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THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 



The Hand of 
Fu-Manchu 

Being a new phase in the Activities of 
Fu-Manchu, The Evil Doctor 


By SAX ROHMER 

AUTHOR OF 

“The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu,’* 
“The Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu,” 
“The Yellow Claw,” Etc. 

(2h^ua/i- 5 



A. L. BURT COMPANY 
Publishers New York 

Published by arrangement with Robert M. McBride & Company 




H 


Copyright, 19 17, by 
Robert M. McBride & Co. 


% 

co\ 


Second Printing 
November, 1917 

Third Printing 
December, 1920 

I 'd-iiZji 


PRINTED :N the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


Published May, 1917 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

II 

III 

IV 
V 

VI 

VII 

VIII 

IX 

X 

XI 

XII 

XIII 

XIV 
XV 

XVI 

XVII 

XVIII 

XIX 

XX 

XXI 

XXII 

XXIII 

XXIV 
XXV 

XXVI 


The Traveler from Tibet 
The Man with the Limp 
“Sakya Muni” . . . 

The Flower of Silence . 

John Ki’s 

The Si-Fan Move 
Chinatown .... 
Zarmi of the Joy-Shop . 

Fu-Manchu 

The Tulun-Nur Chest 

In the Fog 

The Visitant .... 
The Room Below . . . 

The Golden Pomegranates 
Zarmi Reappears . . . 

I Track Zarmi .... 

I Meet Dr. Fu-Manchu 
Queen of Hearts . . . 

“ Zagazig ” 

The Noi-e on the Door . , 

The Second Message . . 

The Secret of the Wharf , 
Arrest of Samarkan . . . 

Caf6 de l’Egypte . . . . 

The House of Hashish . 
“The Demon's Self” . . 


page 

I 

8 

13 

25 

36 

42 

46 

56 

67 

71 

77 

83 

90 

97 

102 

113 

1 19 
126 

134 

140 

149 

155 

163 

172 

179 

183 


V 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER ^ PAGE 

XXVII Room with the Golden Door 193 

XXVIII The Mandarin Ki-Ming 203 

XXIX Lama Sorcery 21 1 

XXX Medusa 220 

XXXI The Marmoset 227 

XXXII Shrine of Seven Lamps 235 

XXXIII An Anti-climax 243 

XXXIV Gray water Park 249 

XXXV The East Tower 258 

XXXVI The Dungeon 267 

XXXVII Three Nights Later 279 

XXXVIII The Monk’s Plan 287 

XXXIX The Shadow Army 293 

XL The Black Chapel 303 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 












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THE 

HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


CHAPTER I 

THE TRAVELER FROM TIBET 

THO’S there? ’’ I called sharply. 

VV I turned and looked across the room. 
The window had been widely opened when I en- 
tered, and a faint fog haze hung in the apartment, 
seeming to veil the light of the shaded lamp. I 
watched the closed door intently, expecting every 
moment to see the knob turn. But nothing hap- 
pened. 

“ Who’s there? ” I cried again, and, crossing the 
room, I threw open the door. 

The long corridor without, lighted only by one 
inhospitable lamp at a remote end, showed choked 
and yellowed with this same fog so characteristic of 
London in November. But nothing moved to right 
nor left of me. The New Louvre Hotel was in some 
respects yet incomplete, and the long passage in 
which I stood, despite its marble facings, had no air 
of comfort or good cheer; palatial it was, but in- 
hospitable. 

I returned to the room, reclosing the door behind 

X 


2 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


me, then for some five minutes or more I stood 
listening for a repetition of that mysterious sound, 
as of something that both dragged and tapped, 
which already had arrested my attention. My 
vigilance went unrewarded. I had closed the win- 
dow to exclude the yellow mist, but subconsciously I 
was aware of its encircling presence, walling me in, 
and now I found myself in such a silence as I had 
known in deserts but could scarce have deemed 
possible in fog-bound London, In the heart of the 
world’s metropolis, with the traffic of the Strand 
below me upon one side and the restless life of the 
river upon the other. 

It was easy to conclude that I had been mistaken, 
that my nervous system was somewhat overwrought 
as a result of my hurried return from Cairo — from 
Cairo where I had left behind me many a fondly 
cherished hope. I addressed myself again to the 
task of unpacking my steamer-trunk and was so en- 
gaged when again a sound in the corridor outside 
brought me upright with a jerk. 

A quick footstep approached the door, and there 
eame a muffled rapping upon the panel. 

This time I asked no question, but leapt across the 
room and threw the door open. Nayland Smith 
stood before me, muffled up in a heavy traveling 
coat, and with his hat pulled down over his brows. 

“ At last I ” I cried, as my friend stepped in and 
quickly reclosed the door. 

Smith threw his hat upon the settee, stripped off 


THE TRAVELER FROM TIBET 3 

the great-coat, and pulling out his pipe began to load 
it in feverish haste. 

“ Well,” I said, standing amid the litter cast out 
from the trunk, and watching him eagerly, “ what’s 
afoot?” 

Nayland Smith lighted his pipe, carelessly drop- 
ping the match-end upon the floor at his feet. 

“ God knows what is afoot this time, Petrie! ” he 
replied. ‘‘ You and I have lived no commonplace 
lives; Dr. Fu-Manchu has seen to that; but if I am 
to believe what the Chief has told me to-day, even 
stranger things are ahead of us I ” 

I stared at him wonder-stricken. 

“ That is almost incredible,” I said; “ terror can 
have no darker meaning than that which Dr. Fu- 
Manchu gave to it. Fu-Manchu is dead, so what 
have we to fear? ” 

“ We have to fear,” replied Smith, throwing him- 
self into a corner of the settee, “ the Si-Fan! ” 

I continued to stare, uncomprehendingly. 

“ The Si-Fan ” 

“ I always knew and you always knew,” inter- 
rupted Smith in his short, decisive manner, “ that 
Fu-Manchu, genius though he was, remained never- 
theless the servant of another or others. He was 
not the head of that organization which dealt in 
wholesale murder, which aimed at upsetting the bal- 
ance of the world. I even knew the name of one, a 
certain mandarin, and member of the Sublime Order 
of the White Peacock, who was his immediate supe- 


4 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


rior. I had never dared to guess at the identity of 
what I may term the Head Center.” 

He ceased speaking, and sat gripping his pipe 
grimly between his teeth, whilst I stood staring at 
him almost fatuously. Then — 

“ Evidently you have much to tell me,” I said, 
with forced calm. 

I drew up a chair beside the settee and was about 
to sit down. 

“ Suppose you bolt the door,” jerked my friend. 

I nodded, entirely comprehending, crossed the 
room and shot the little nickle bolt into its socket. 

“ Now,” said Smith as I took my seat, “ the story 
is a fragmentary one in which there are many gaps. 
Let us see what we know. It seems that the des- 
patch which led to my sudden recall (and inciden- 
tally yours) from Egypt to London and which only 
reached me as I was on the point of embarking at 
Suez for Rangoon, was prompted by the arrival here 
of Sir Gregory Hale, whilom attache at the British 
Embassy, Peking. So much, you will remember, 
was conveyed in my instructions.” 

“ Quite so.” 

“ Furthermore, I was instructed, you’ll remember, 
to put up at the New Louvre Hotel; therefore you 
came here and engaged this suite whilst I reported 
to the chief. A stranger business is before us, 
Petrie, I verily believe, than any we have known 
hitherto. In the first place, Sir Gregory Hale is 
here ” 


THE TRAVELER FROM TIBET 


5 


“ Here?” 

“ In the New Louvre Hotel. I ascertained on the 
way up, but not by direct inquiry, that he occupies 
a suite similar to this, and incidentally on the same 
floor.” 

“ His report to the India Ofiice, whatever its na- 
ture, must have been a sensational one.” 

“ He has made no report to the India Office.” 

“ What! made no report? ” 

“ He has not entered any office whatever, nor will 
he receive any representative. He’s been playing at 
Robinson Crusoe in a private suite here for close 
upon a fortnight — id est since the time of his arrival 
in London I ” 

I suppose my growing perplexity was plainly 
visible, for Smith suddenly burst out with his short, 
boyish laugh. 

“ Oh 1 I told you it was a strange business,” he 
cried. 

“ Is he mad? ” 

Nayland Smith’s gaiety left him; he became sud- 
denly stern and grim. 

“ Either mad, Petrie, stark raving mad, or the 
savior of the Indian Empire — perhaps of all West- 
ern civilization. Listen. Sir Gregory Hale, whom 
I know slightly and who honors me, apparently, with 
a belief that I am the only man in Europe worthy 
of his confidence, resigned his appointment at Peking 
some time ago, and set out upon a private expedition 
to the Mongolian frontier with the avowed intention 


6 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


of visiting some place in the Gobi Desert. From 
the time that he actually crossed the frontier he dis- 
appeared for nearly six months, to reappear again 
suddenly and dramatically in London. He buried 
himself in this hotel, refusing all visitors and only 
advising the authorities of his return by telephone. 
He demanded that I should be sent to see him ; and 
— despite his eccentric methods — so great is the 
Chief’s faith in Sir Gregory’s knowledge of matters 
Far Eastern, that behold, here I am.” 

He broke off abruptly and sat in an attitude of 
tense listening. Then — 

“ Do you hear anything, Petrie? ” he rapped, 

“A sort of tapping?” I inquired, listening in- 
tently myself the while. 

Smith nodded his head rapidly. 

We both listened for some time. Smith with his 
head bent slightly forward and his pipe held in his 
hands; I with my gaze upon the bolted door. A 
faint mist still hung in the room, and once I thought 
I detected a slight sound from the bedroom beyond, 
which was in darkness. Smith noted me turn my 
head, and for a moment the pair of us stared into 
the gap of the doorway. But the silence was com- 
plete. 

“ You have told me neither much nor little. 
Smith,” I said, resuming for some reason, in a hushed 
voice. “ Who or what is this Si-Fan at whose 
existence you hint? ” 

Nayland Smith smiled grimly. 


THE TRAVELER FROM TIBET 7 

“ Possibly the real and hitherto unsolved riddle 
of Tibet, Petrie,” he replied — “ a mystery concealed 
from the world behind the veil of Lamaism.” He 
stood up abruptly, glancing at a scrap of paper which 
he took from his pocket — ‘‘ Suite Number 14a,” he 
said. “ Come along! We have not a moment to 
waste. Let us make our presence known to Sir 
Gregory — the man who has dared to raise that 
veil.” 


CHAPTER II ! 

THE MAN WITH THE LIMP ! 

' . . . . i 

‘‘T OCK the door! ” said Smith significantly, as 
I j we stepped into the corridor. 

I did so and had turned to join my friend when, 
to the accompaniment of a sort of hysterical mutter- 
ing, a door further along, and on the opposite side 
of the corridor, was suddenly thrown open, and a 
man whose face showed ghastly white in the light of 
the solitary lamp beyond, literally hurled himself I 
out. He perceived Smith and myself immediately. | 
Throwing one glance back over his shoulder he i 
came tottering forward to meet us. 

“My God! I can’t stand it any longer!” he 
babbled, and threw himself upon Smith, who was 
foremost, clutching pitifully at him for support. 

“ Come in and see him, sir — for Heaven’s sake 
come in! I think he’s dying; and he’s going mad. 

I never disobeyed an order in my life before, but I 
can’t help myself — I can’t help myself ! ” 

“ Brace up ! ” I cried, seizing him by the shoulders 
as, still clutching at Nayland Smith, he turned his 
ghastly face to me. “ Who are you, and what’s 
your trouble? ” 


8 


THE MAN WITH THE LIMP 


9 


“ I’m Beeton, Sir Gregory Hale’s man.” 

Smith started visibly, and his gaunt, tanned face 
seemed to me to have grown perceptibly paler. 

“ Come on, Petrie I ” he snapped. “ There’s 
some devilry here.” 

Thrusting Beeton aside he rushed in at the open 
door — upon which, as I followed him, I had time 
to note the number, 14a. It communicated with a 
suite of rooms almost identical with our own. The 
sitting-room was empty and in the utmost disorder, 
but from the direction of the principal bedroom came 
a most horrible mumbling and gurgling sound — a 
sound utterly indescribable. For one instant we 
hesitated at the threshold — hesitated to face the 
horror beyond; then almost side by side we came 
into the bedroom. . . . 

Only one of the two lamps was alight — that 
above the bed; and on the bed a man lay writhing. 
He was incredibly gaunt, so that the suit of tropical 
twill which he wore hung upon him in folds, showing, 
if such evidence were necessary, how terribly he was 
fallen away from his constitutional habit. He wore 
a beard of at least ten days’ growth, which served to 
accentuate the cavitous hollowness of his face. His 
eyes seemed starting from their sockets as he lay 
upon his back uttering inarticulate sounds and pluck- 
ing with skinny fingers at his lips. 

Smith bent forward peering into the wasted face; 
and then started back with a suppressed cry. 


10 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


“ Merciful God! can it be Hale? ” he muttered. 
“ What does it mean? what does it mean? ’’ 

I ran to the opposite side of the bed, and placing 
my arms under the writhing man, raised him and 
propped a pillow at his back. He continued to 
babble, rolling his eyes from side to side hideously; 
then by degrees they seemed to become less glazed, 
and a light of returning sanity entered them. They 
became fixed; and they were fixed upon Nayland 
Smith, who, bending over the bed, was watching Sir 
Gregory (for Sir Gregory I concluded this pitiable 
wreck to be) with an expression upon his face com- 
pound of many emotions. 

“ A glass of water,” I said, catching the glance 
of the man Beeton, who stood trembling at the open 
doorway. 

Spilling a liberal quantity upon the carpet, Beeton 
ultimately succeeded in conveying the glass to me. 
Hale, never taking his gaze from Smith, gulped a 
little of the water and then thrust my hand away. 
As I turned to place the tumbler upon a small table 
he resumed the wordless babbling, and now, with his 
index finger, pointed to his mouth. 

“ He has lost the power of speech ! ” whispered 
Smith. 

“ He was stricken dumb, gentlemen, ten minutes 
ago,” said Beeton in a trembling voice. “ He 
dropped off to sleep out there on the floor, and I 
brought him in here and laid him on the bed. When 
he woke up he was like that 1 ” 


THE MAN WITH THE LIMP 


II 


The man on the bed ceased his inchoate babbling; 
and now, gulping noisily, began to make quick nerv- 
ous movements with his hands. 

“ He wants to write something,” said Smith in a 
low voice. “ Quick ! hold him up I ” 

He thrust his notebook, open at a blank page, 
before the man whose moments were numbered, and 
placed a pencil in the shaking right hand. 

Faintly and unevenly Sir Gregory commenced to 
write — whilst I supported him. Across the bent 
shoulders Smith silently questioned me, and my 
reply was a negative shake of the head. 

The lamp above the bed was swaying as if in a. 
heavy draught; I remembered that it had been 
swaying as we entered. There was no fog in the 
room, but already from the bleak corridor outside it 
■was entering; murky, yellow clouds steaming in at the 
open door. Save for the gulping of the dying man, 
and the sobbing breaths of Beeton, there was no 
sound. Six irregular lines Sir Gregory Hale 
scrawled upon the page ; then suddenly his body be- 
came a dead weight in my arms. Gently I laid him 
back upon the pillows, gently disengaged his fingers 
from the notebook, and, my head almost touching 
Smith’s as we both craned forward over the page, 
read, with great difficulty, the following: — 

“ Guard my diary. . . . Tibetan frontier . . . 
Key of India. Beware man . . . with the limp. 
Yellow . . . rising. Watch Tibet . . . the iSi- 
Fan, . . 


12 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


From somewhere outside the room, whether above 
or below I could not be sure, came a faint dragging 
sound, accompanied by a tap — tap — tap, , . . 


CHAPTER III 

“ SAKYA MUNI ” 

T he faint disturbance faded into silence again. 

Across the dead man’s body I met Smith’s 
gaze. Faint wreaths of fog floated in from the 
outer room. Beeton clutched the foot of the bed, 
and the structure shook in sympathy with his wild 
trembling. That was the only sound now; there was 
absolutely nothing physical so far as my memory 
serves to signalize the coming of the brown man. 

Yet, stealthy as his approach had been, something 
must have warned us. For suddenly, with one 
accord, we three turned our eyes away from the 
poor emaciated thing upon the bed, and stared out 
into the room from which the fog wreaths floated in. 

Beeton stood nearest to the door, but, although 
he turned, he did not go out, but with a smothered 
cry crouched back against the bed. Smith it was 
who moved first, then I followed, and close upon his 
heels burst into the disordered sitting-room. The 
outer door had been closed but not bolted, and what 
with the tinted light, diffused through the silken 
Japanese shade, and the presence of fog in the room, 
I was almost tempted to believe myself the victim 
of a delusion. What I saw or thought I saw was 
this : — 


13 


14 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

A tall screen stood immediately inside the dooFy! 
and around its end, like some materialization of the 
choking mist, glided a lithe, yellow figure, a slim,' 
crouching figure, wearing a sort of loose robe. An; 
impression I had of jet-black hair, protruding from 
beneath a little cap, of finely chiseled features and 
great, luminous eyes, then, with no sound to tell of 
a door opened or shut, the apparition was gone. 

“You saw him, Petrie! — you saw him!” cried 
Smith. 

In three bounds he was across the room, had 
tossed the screen aside and thrown open the door. 
Out he sprang into the yellow haze of the corridor, 
tripped, and, uttering a cry of pain, fell sprawling 
upon the marble floor. Hot with apprehension I 
joined him, but he looked up with a wry smile and 
began furiously rubbing his left shin. 

“ A queer trick, Petrie,” he said, rising to his 
feet; “but nevertheless effective.” 

He pointed to the object which had occasioned his 
fall. It was a small metal chest, evidently of very 
considerable weight, and it stood immediately out- 
side the door of Number 14a. 

“That was what he came for, sir! That was 
what he came for! You were too quick for him! ” 

Beeton stood behind us, his horror-bright eyes 
fixed upon the box. 

“ Eh? ” rapped Smith, turning upon him. 

“ That’s what Sir Gregory brought to England,” 
the man ran on almost hysterically; “that’s what 


“ sAkya muni ” 


15 

he’s been guarding this past two weeks, night and 
day, crouching over it with a loaded pistol. That’s 
what cost him his life, sir. He’s had no peace, day 
or night, since he got it. . . 

We were inside the room again now. Smith bearing 
the coffer in his arms, and still the man ran on : 

“ He’s never slept for more than an hour at a 
time, that I know of, for weeks past. Since the day 
we came here he hasn’t spoken to another living soul, 
and he’s lain there on the floor at night with his 
head on that brass box, and sat watching over it all 
day. 

“ ‘ Beeton ! ’ he’d cry out, perhaps in the middle 
of the night — ‘ Beeton — do you hear that damned 
woman ! ’ But although I’d begun to think I could 
hear something, I believe it was the constant strain 
working on my nerves and nothing else at all. 

“ Then he was always listening out for some one 
he called ‘ the man with the limp.’ Five and six 
times a night he’d have me up to listen with him. 
^ There he goes, Beeton I ’ he’d whisper, crouching 
with his ear pressed flat to the door. ‘ Do you hear 
him dragging himself along? ’ 

“ God knows how I’ve stood it as I have; for I’ve 
known no peace since we left China. Once we got 
here I thought it would be better, but it’s been 
worse. 

“Gentlemen have come (from the India Office, 
I believe) , but he would not see them. Said he would 
see no one but Mr. Nayland Smith. He had never 


1 6 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


lain in his bed until to-night, but what with taking 
no proper food nor sleep, and some secret trouble : 
that was killing him by inches, he collapsed altogether 
a while ago, and I carried him in and laid him on | 
the bed as I told you. Now he’s dead — now he’s i 
dead.” | 

Beeton leant up against the mantelpiece and | 
buried his face in his hands, whilst his shoulders j 
shook convulsively. He had evidently been greatly ^ 
attached to his master, and I found something very 
pathetic in this breakdown of a physically strong 
man. Smith laid his hand upon his shoulders. 

“ You have passed through a very trying ordeal,” 
he said, “ and no man could have done his duty 
better; but forces beyond your control have proved 
too strong for you. I am Nayland Smith.” 

The man spun around with a surprising expression 
of relief upon his pale face. 

“ So that whatever can be done,” continued my 
friend, “ to carry out your master’s wishes, will be 
done now. Rely upon it. Go into your room and 
lie down until we call you.” 

“ Thank you, sir, and thank God you are here,” 
said Beeton dazedly, and with one hand raised to his 
head he went, obediently, to the smaller bedroom 
and disappeared within. 

“ Now, Petrie,” rapped Smith, glancing around 
the littered floor, “since I am empowered to deal 
with this matter as I see fit, and since you are a 
medical man, we can devote the next half-hour, at 


“ sAkya muni ” 


17 


any rate, to a strictly confidential inquiry into this 
most perplexing case. I propose that you examine 
the body for any evidences that may assist you in 
determining the cause of death, whilst I make a few 
i inquiries here.” 

I nodded, without speaking, and went into the bed- 
i room. It contained not one solitary item of the dead 
- man’s belongings, and in every way bore out Beeton’s 
statement that Sir Gregory had never inhabited it. I 
bent over Hale, as he lay fully dressed upon the 
bed. 

Saving the singularity of the symptom which had 
immediately preceded death — viz., the paralysis of 
the muscles of articulation — I should have felt dis- 
posed to ascribe his end to sheer inanition; and a 
cursory examination brought to light nothing con- 
tradictory to that view. Not being prepared to 
proceed further in the matter at the moment I was 
about to rejoin Smith, whom I could hear rummaging 
about amongst the litter of the outer room, when 
I made a curious discovery. 

Lying in a fold of the disordered bed linen were a 
few petals of some kind of blossom, three of them 
still attached to a fragment of slender stalk. 

I collected the tiny petals, mechanically, and held 
them in the palm of my hand studying them for 
some moments before the mystery of their presence 
there became fully appreciable to me. Then I began 
to wonder. The petals (which I was disposed to 
class as belonging to some species of Curcas or 


1 8 THE HANt) OF FU-MANCHU 


Physic Nut), though bruised, were fresh, and there^ 
fore could not have been in the room for many hours. 
How had they been introduced, and by whom? 
Above all, what could their presence there at that 
time portend? 

“ Smith,” I called, and walked towards the door 
carrying the mysterious fragments in my palm. 
“ Look what I have found upon the bed.” 

Nayland Smith, who was bending over an open 
despatch case which he had placed upon a chair, 
turned — and his glance fell upon the petals and tiny 
piece of stem. 

I think I have never seen so sudden a change of 
expression take place in the face of any man. Even 
in that imperfect light I saw him blanch. I saw a 
hard glitter come into his eyes. He spoke, evenly, 
but hoarsely: 

“Put those things down — there, on the table; 
anywhere.” 

I obeyed him without demur; for something in 
his manner had chilled me with foreboding. 

“ You did not break that stalk? ” 

“ No. I found it as you see it.” 

“ Have you smelt the petals? ” 

I shook my head. Thereupon, having his eyes 
fixed upon me with the strangest expression in their 
gray depths, Nayland Smith said a singular thing. 

“ Pronounce, slowly, the words ^ Sdkya Muni* ” 
he directed. 

I stared at him, scarce crediting my senses; but — ? 


sAkya muni 


19 


I mean it ! ” he rapped. “ Do as I tell you.” 

“ Sakya Muni,” I said, in ever increasing wonder. 

Smith laughed unmirthfully. 

“ Go into the bathroom and thoroughly wash your 
hands,” was his next order. “ Renew the water at 
least three times.” As I turned to fulfil his instruc- 
i tions, for I doubted no longer his deadly earnestness : 

Beeton ! ” he called. 

Beeton, very white-faced and shaky, came out 
I from the bedroom as I entered the bathroom, and 
i whilst I proceeded carefully to cleanse my hands I 
heard Smith interrogating him. 

“ Have any flowers been brought into the room 
i to-day, Beeton? ” 

: “ Flowers, sir? Certainly not. Nothing has 

ever been brought in here but what I have brought 
; myself.” 

i “You are certain of that? ” 

“ Positive.” 

“ Who brought up the meals, then? ” 

“ If you’ll look into my room here, sir, you’ll see 
that I have enough tinned and bottled stuff to last 
us for weeks. Sir Gregory sent me out to buy it on 
the day we arrived. No one else had left or entered 
these rooms until you came to-night.” 

I returned to find Nayland Smith standing tug- 
ging at the lobe of his left ear in evident perplexity. 
He turned to me. 

“ I find my hands over full,” he said. “ Will you 
oblige me by telephoning for Inspector Weymouth? 


20 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


Also, I should be glad if you would ask M. Samarkan, 
the manager, to see me here immediately.” 

As I was about to quit the room — 

“ Not a word of our suspicions to M. Samarkan,’^ 
he added; “ nor a word about the brass box.” 

I was far along the corridor ere I remembered 
that which, remembered earlier, had saved me the 
journey. There was a telephone in every suite. 
However, I was not indisposed to avail myself of an 
opportunity for a few moments’ undisturbed reflec- 
tion, and, avoiding the lift, I descended by the broad, 
marble staircase. 

To what strange adventure were we committed? 
What did the brass coffer contain which Sir Gregory 
had guarded night and day? Something associated 
in some way with Tibet, something which he be- 
lieved to be “ the key of India ” and which had 
brought in its train, presumably, the sinister “ man 
with a limp.” 

Who was the “ man with the limp ” ? What was 
the Si-Fan? Lastly, by what conceivable means 
could the flower, which my friend evidently regarded 
with extreme horror, have been introduced into 
Hale’s room, and why had I been required to pro- 
nounce the words “ Sakya Muni ”? 

So ran my reflections — at random and to no clear 
end; and, as is often the case in such circumstances, 
my steps bore them company; so that all at once I 
became aware that instead of having gained the 
lobby of the hotel, I had taken some wrong turning 


“ SAKYA MUNI” 21 

and was in a part of the building entirely unfamiliar 
to me. 

A long corridor of the inevitable white marble ex- 
tended far behind me. I had evidently traversed it. 
Before me was a heavily curtained archway. Ir- 
ritably, I pulled the curtain aside, learnt that it 
masked a glass-paneled door, opened this door — 
and found myself in a small court, dimly lighted and 
redolent of some pungent, incense-like perfume. 

One step forward I took, then pulled up abruptly. 
A sound had come to my ears. From a second 
curtained doorway, close to my right hand, it came 
— a sound of muffled tapping ^ together with that of 
something which dragged upon the floor. 

Within my brain the words seemed audibly to 
form: “ The man with the limp! ” 

I sprang to the door; I had my hand upon the 
drapery . . . when a woman stepped out, barring 
the way! 

No impression, not even a vague one, did I form 
of her costume, save that she wore a green silk 
shawl, embroidered with raised white figures of 
birds, thrown over her head and shoulders and 
draped in such fashion that part of her face was con- 
cealed. I was transfixed by the vindictive glare of 
her eyes, of her huge dark eyes. 

They were ablaze with anger — but it was not this 
expression within them which struck me so forcibly 
as the fact that they were in some way familiar. 

Motionless, we faced one another. Then — 


122 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

“ You go away/’ said the woman — at the same 
time extending her arms across the doorway as bar- 
riers to my progress. 

Her voice had a husky intonation; her hands and 
arms, which were bare and of old ivory hue, were 
laden with barbaric jewelry, much of it tawdry sil- 
verware of the bazaars. Clearly she was a half 
caste of some kind; probably a Eurasian. 

I hesitated. The sounds of dragging and tapping 
had ceased. But the presence of this grotesque 
Oriental figure only increased my anxiety to pass the 
doorway. I looked steadily into the black eyes; 
they looked into mine unflinchingly. 

“ You go away, please,” repeated the woman, 
raising her right hand and pointing to the door 
whereby I had entered. “ These private roomSc 
What you doing here? ” 

Her words, despite her broken English, served to 
recall to me the fact that I was, beyond doubt, a 
trespasser! By what right did I presume to force 
my way into other people’s apartments? 

“ There is some one in there whom I must see,” 
I said, realizing, however, that my chance of doing 
so was poor. 

“ You see nobody,” she snapped back uncom- 
promisingly. “ You go away! ” 

She took a step towards me, continuing to point 
to the door. Where had I previously encountered 
the glance of those splendid, savage eyes? 

So engaged was I with this taunting, partial mem- 


“ sAkya muni ” 


23 


ory, and so sure, if the woman would but uncover 
her face, of instantly recognizing her, that still I 
hesitated. Whereupon, glancing rapidly over her 
shoulder into whatever place lay beyond the curtained 
doorway, she suddenly stepped back and vanished, 
drawing the curtains to with an angry jerk. 

I heard her retiring footsteps; then came a loud 
bang. If her object in intercepting me had been to 
cover the slow retreat of some one she had suc- 
ceeded. 

Recognizing that I had cut a truly sorry figure in 
the encounter, I retraced my steps. 

By what route I ultimately regained the main 
staircase I have no idea ; for my mind was busy with 
that taunting memory of the two dark eyes looking 
out from the folds of the green embroidered shawl. 
Where, and when, had I met their glance before? 
To that problem I sought an answer in vain. 

The message despatched to New Scotland Yard, 
I found M. Samarkan, long famous as a mditre 
d^hotel in Cairo, and now host of London’s newest 
and most palatial khan. Portly, and wearing a gray 
imperial, M. Samarkan had the manners of a court- 
ier, and the smile of a true Greek. 

I told him what was necessary, and no more, de- 
siring him to go to suite 14a without delay and also 
without arousing unnecessary attention. I dropped 
no hint of foul play, but M. Samarkan expressed pro- 
found (and professional) regret that so distin- 
guished, though unprofitable, a patron should have 


24 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


selected the New Louvre, thus early in its history, 
as the terminus of his career. ] 

“ By the way,” I said, “ have you Oriental guests 
with you, at the moment? ” 

M. Samarkan raised his heavy eyebrows. 

“ No, monsieur,” he assured me. 

“ Not a certain Oriental lady? ” I persisted. 

M. Samarkan slowly shook his head. 

“ Possibly monsieur has seen one of the ayahs? 
There are several Anglo-Indian families resident in 
the New Louvre at present.” 

An ayah? It was just possible, of course. 
Yet . . • 


CHAPTER IV 


j 

i 

' THE FLOWER OF SILENCE 

I 

1^‘TTTE are dealing now,” said Nayland Smith, 
j VV pacing restlessly up and down our sitting- 
room, “not, as of old, with Dr. Fu-Manchu, but 
with an entirely unknown quantity — the Si-Fan.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake ! ” I cried, “ what is the Si- 
IFan?” 

“ The greatest mystery of the mysterious East, 
[Petrie. Think. You know, as I know, that a ma- 
lignant being. Dr. Fu-Manchu, was for some time 
j in England, engaged in ‘ paving the way ’ (I believe 
those words were my own) for nothing less than a 
giant Yellow Empire. That dream is what millions 
of Europeans and Americans term ‘ the Yellow 
Peril ’ I Very good. Such an empire needs must 

have ” 

“ An emperor ! ” 

J Nayland Smith stopped his restless pacing imme- 
diately in front of me. 

“ Why not an empress, Petrie ! ” he rapped. 

His words were something of a verbal thunder- 
bolt; I found myself at loss for any suitable reply. 

“ You will perhaps remind me,” he continued 
rapidly, “ of the lowly place held by women in the 
25 


26 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


East. I can cite notable exceptions, ancient and 
modern. In fact, a moment’s consideration will re- 
veal many advantages in the creation by a hypo- 
thetical body of Eastern dynast-makers not of an 
emperor but of an empress. Finally, there is a per- 
sistent tradition throughout the Far East that such^ 
a woman will one day rule over the known peoples. 
I was assured some years ago, by a very learned 
pundit, that a princess of incalculably ancient line- 
age, residing in some secret monastery in Tartary 
or Tibet, was to be the future empress of the world. 
I believe this tradition, or the extensive group who 
seek to keep it alive and potent, to be what is called 
the Si-Fan ! ” 

I was past greater amazement; but — 

“This lady can be no longer young, then?” I 
asked. 

“ On the contrary, Petrie, she remains always 
young and beautiful by means of a continuous series 
of reincarnations; also she thus conserves the col- 
lated wisdom of many ages. In short, she is the 
archetype of Lamaism. The real secret of Lama 
celibacy is the existence of this immaculate ruler, of I' 
whom the Grand Lama is merely a high priest. Shai^ 
has, as attendants, maidens of good family, selected" 
for their personal charms, and rendered dumb in^ 
order that they may never report what they see and" 
hear.” 

“ Smith! ” I cried, “ this is utterly incredible! ” ^ 


THE FLOWER OF SILENCE 


27 

! “Her body slaves are not only mute, but blind; 
for it is death to look upon her beauty unveiled.” 

I stood up impatiently. 

“ You are amusing yourself,” I said. 

Nayland Smith clapped his hands upon my shoul- 
ders, in his own impulsive fashion, and looked ear- 
I nestly into my eyes. 

I “ Forgive me, old man,” he said, “ if I have re- 
I lated all these fantastic particulars as though I gave 
them credence. Much of this is legendary, I know, 
some of it mere superstition, but — I am serious now, 
Petrie — part of it is true” 

I stared at the square-cut, sun-tanned face; and 
no trace of a smile lurked about that grim mouth. 

“ Such a woman may actually exist, Petrie, only 
in legend; but, nevertheless, she forms the head 
center of that giant conspiracy in which the activities 
of Dr. Fu-Manchu were merely a part. Hale blun- 
: dered on to this stupendous business ; and from what 
I have gathered from Beeton and what I have seen 
for myself, it is evident that in yonder coffer ” — he 
pointed to the brass chest standing hard by — “ Hale 
got hold of something indispensable to the success of 
this vast Yellow conspiracy. That he was followed 
here, to the very hotel, by agents of this mystic Un- 
known is evident. But,” he added grimly, “ they 
have failed in their object! ” 

A thousand outrageous possibilities fought for pre- 
cedence in my mind. 


28 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


“ Smith ! ” I cried, “ the half-caste woman whom I 
saw in the hotel . . 

Nayland Smith shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Probably, as M. Samarkan suggests, an ayah! 
he said; but there was an odd note in his voice and 
an odd look in his eyes. 

‘‘ Then again, I am almost certain that Hale’s 
warning concerning ‘ the man with the limp ’ was no 
empty one. Shall you open the brass chest? ” 

“ At present, decidedly no, Hale’s fate renders 
his warning one that I dare not neglect. For I was 
with him when he died; and they cannot know how 
much I know. How did he die ? How did he die ? 
How was the Flower of Silence introduced into his 
closely guarded room? ” 

“ The Flower of Silence? ” 

Smith laughed shortly and unmirthfully. 

“ I was once sent for,” he said, “ during the time 
that I was stationed in Upper Burma, to see a 
stranger — a sort of itinerant Buddhist priest, so I 
understood, who had desired to communicate some 
message to me personally. He was dying — in a 
dirty hut on the outskirts of Manipur, up in the hills. 
When I arrived I saw at a glance that the man was a 
Tibetan monk. He must have crossed the river and 
come down through Assam; but the nature of his 
message I never knew. He had lost the power of 
speech! He was gurgling, inarticulate, just like 
poor Hale. A few moments after my arrival he 
breathed his last. The fellow who had guided me to 


THE FLOWER OF SILENCE 


29 


the place bent over him — I shall always remember 
the scene — then fell back as though he had stepped 
upon an adder. 

“ ‘ He holds the Flower of Silence in his hand ! ’ he 
cried — ‘ the Si-Fan ! the Si-Fan I ’ — and bolted from 
the hut. 

“ When I went to examine the dead man, sure 
enough he held in one hand a little crumpled spray 
of flowers. I did not touch it with my fingers natur- 
ally, but I managed to loop a piece of twine around 
the stem, and by that means I gingerly removed the 
flowers and carried them to an orchid-hunter of my 
acquaintance who chanced to be visiting Manipur. 

“ Grahame — that was my orchid man’s name — 
pronounced the specimen to be an unclassified species 
of jatropha; belonging to the Curcas family. He 
discovered a sort of hollow thorn, almost like a fang, 
amongst the blooms, but was unable to surmise the 
nature of its functions. He extracted enough of a 
certain fixed oil from the flowers, however, to have 
poisoned the pair of us ! ” 

“ Probably the breaking of a bloom . . .” 

“ Ejects some of this acrid oil through the thorn? 
Practically the uncanny thing stings when it is hurt? 
That is my own idea, Petrie. And I can understand 
how these Eastern fanatics accept their sentence — 
silence and death — when they have deserved it, at 
the hands of their mysterious organization, and com- 
mit this novel form of hara-kiri. But I shall not 
sleep soundly with that brass coffer in my poss^s«iIon 


30 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


until I know by what means Sir Gregory was induced 
to touch a Flower of Silence, and by what means 
it was placed in his room 1 ” 

“ But, Smith, why did you direct me to-night to 
repeat the words, ‘ Sakya Muni ’? ” 

Smith smiled in a very grim fashion. 

“ It was after the episode I have just related that 
I made the acquaintance of that pundit, some of 
whose statements I have already quoted for your en- 
lightenment. He admitted that the Flower of Si- 
lence was an instrument frequently employed by a 
certain group, adding that, according to some au- 
thorities, one who had touched the flower might 
escape death by immediately pronouncing the sacred 
name of Buddha. He was no fanatic himself, how- 
ever, and, marking my incredulity, he explained that 
the truth was this : — 

“ No one whose powers of speech were imperfect 
could possibly pronounce correctly the words 
‘ Sakya Muni.’ Therefore, since the first effects of 
this damnable thing is instantly to tie the tongue, 
the uttering of the sacred name of Buddha becomes 
practically a test whereby the victim may learn 
whether the venom has entered his system or not! ” 
I repressed a shudder. An atmosphere of horror 
seemed to be enveloping us, foglike. 

“ Smith,” I said slowly, “ we must be on our 
guard,” for at last I had run to earth that elusive 
memory. “ Unless I am strangely mistaken, the 
‘ man ’ who so mysteriously entered Hale’s room 


THE FLOWER OF SILENCE 


31 


and the supposed ayah whom I met downstairs are 
one and the same. Two, at least, of the Yellow 
group are actually here in the New Louvre ! ” 

The light of the shaded lamp shone down upon the 
brass coffer on the table beside me. The fog seemed 
to have cleared from the room somewhat, but since 
in the midnight stillness I could detect the muffled 
sounds of sirens from the river and the reports of fog 
signals from the railways, I concluded that the night 
was not yet wholly clear of the choking mist. In 
accordance with a pre-arranged scheme we had de- 
cided to guard “ the key of India ” (whatever it 
might be) turn and turn about throughout the night. 
In a word — we feared to sleep unguarded. Now 
my watch informed me that four o’clock approached, 
at which hour I was to arouse Smith and retire to 
sleep to my own bedroom. 

Nothing had disturbed my vigil — that is, nothing 
definite. True once, about half an hour earlier, I 
had thought I heard the dragging and tapping sound 
from somewhere up above me; but since the corridor 
overhead was unfinished and none of the rooms 
opening upon it yet habitable, I concluded that I had 
been mistaken. The stairway at the end of our cor- 
ridor, which communicated with that above, was still 
blocked with bags of cement and slabs of marble, in 
fact. 

Faintly to my ears came the booming of London’s 
clocks, beating out the hour of four. But still I sat 
beside the mysterious coffer, indisposed to awaken 


32 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


my friend any sooner than was necessary, particularly 
since I felt in no way sleepy myself. 

I was to learn a lesson that night: the lesson of 
strict adherence to a compact. I had arranged to 
awaken Nayland Smith at four; and because I dal- 
lied, determined to finish my pipe ere entering his 
bedroom, almost it happened that Fate placed it be- 
yond my power ever to awaken him again. 

At ten minutes past four, amid a stillness so in- 
tense that the creaking of my slippers seemed a loud 
disturbance, I crossed the room and pushed open the 
door of Smith’s bedroom. It was in darkness, but as 
I entered I depressed the switch immediately inside 
the door, lighting the lamp which swung from the 
center of the ceiling. 

Glancing towards the bed, I immediately perceived 
that there was something different in its aspect, but at 
first I found this difference difficult to define. I stood 
for a moment in doubt. Then I realized the nature 
of the change which had taken place. 

A lamp hung above the bed, attached to a move- 
able fitting, which enabled it to be raised or lowered 
at the pleasure of the occupant. When Smith had 
retired he was in no reading mood, and he had not 
even lighted the reading-lamp, but had left it 
pushed high up against the ceiling. ^ . 

It was the position of this lamp which had changed. 
For now it swung so low over the pillow that the 
silken fringe of the shade almost touched my 
friend’s face as he lay soundly asleep with one 


THE FLOWER OF SILENCE 


33 


lean brown hand outstretched upon the coverlet. 

I stood in the doorway staring, mystified, at this 
phenomenon; I might have stood there without in- 
tervening, until intervention had been too late, were 
it not that, glancing upward toward the wooden 
block from which ordinarily the pendant hung, I per- 
ceived that no block was visible, but only a round, 
black cavity from which the white flex supporting the 
lamp swung out. 

Then, uttering a hoarse cry which rose unbidden to 
my lips, I sprang wildly across the room . . . for 
now I had seen something else ! 

Attached to one of the four silken tassels which 
ornamented the lamp-shade, so as almost to rest upon 
the cheek of the sleeping man, was a little corymb 
of bloom . . . the Flower of Silence! 

Grasping the shade with my left hand I seized 
the flex with my right, and as Smith sprang upright 
in bed, eyes wildly glaring, I wrenched jvith all my 
might. Upward my gaze was set; and I glimpsed a 
yellow hand, with long, pointed finger nails. There 
came a loud resounding snap ; an electric spark spat 
venomously from the circular opening above the bed; 
and, with the cord and lamp still fast m my grip, I 
went rolling across the carpet — as the other lamp 
became instantly extinguished. 

Dimly I perceived Smith, arrayed In pajamas, 
jumping out upon the opposite side of the bed. 

“Petrie, Petrie!” he cried, “where are you? 
what has happened? ” 


34 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


A laugh, little short of hysterical, escaped me. I 
gathered myself up and made for the lighted sitting- 
room. 

“ Quick, Smith ! ” I said — but I did not recognize 
my own voice. “ Quick — come out of that room.’’ 

I crossed to the settee, and shaking in every limb, 
sank down upon it. Nayland Smith, still wild-eyed, 
and his face a mask of bewilderment, came out of the 
bedroom and stood watching me. 

“For God’s sake what has happened, Petrie?” 
he demanded, and began clutching at the lobe of his 
left ear and looking all about the room dazedly. 

“The Flower of Silence I” I said; “some one 
has been at work in the top corridor. . . . Heaven 
knows when, for since we engaged these rooms we 
have not been much away from them . . . the same 
device as in the case of poor Hale. . . . You would 
have tried to brush the thing away . . 

A light *of understanding began to dawn in my 
friend’s eyes. He drew himself stiffly upright, and 
in a loud, harsh voice uttered the words : “ Sakya 

Muni ” — and again: “ Sakya Muni.” 

“ Thank God ! ” I said shakily. “ I was not too 
late.” 

Nayland Smith, with much rattling of glass, 
poured out two stiff pegs from the decanter. 
Then — 

“ Sshf what’s that? ” he whispered. 

He stood, tense, listening, his head cast slightly 
to one side. 


THE FLOWER OF SILENCE 


35 


A very faint sound of shuffling and tapping was 
perceptible, coming, as I thought, from the incom- 
plete stairway communicating with the upper cor- 
ridor. 

“ The man with the limp ! ” whispered Smith, 

He bounded to the door and actually had one 
hand upon the bolt, when he turned, and fixed his 
gaze upon the brass box. 

‘‘No!” he snapped; “there are occasions when 
prudence should rule. Neither of us must leave 
these rooms to-night! ” 


CHAPTER' V 

JOHN Kl’s 

^^TTTHAT is the meaning of Si-Fan?” asked 

VV Detective-sergeant Fletcher. 

He stood looking from the window at the pros- 
pect below; at the trees bordering the winding em- 
bankment; at the ancient monolith which for un- 
numbered ages had looked across desert sands to 
the Nile, and now looked down upon another river 
of many mysteries. The view seemed to absorb his 
attention. He spoke without turning his head. 

Nayland Smith laughed shortly. 

“ The Si-Fan are the natives of Eastern Tibet,” 
he replied. 

“ But the term has some other significance, sir? ” 
said the detective ; his words were more of an asser- 
tion than a query. 

“ It has,” replied my friend grimly. “ I believe 
it to be the name, or perhaps the sigil, of an exten- 
sive secret society with branches stretching out into 
every corner of the Orient.” 

We were silent for awhile. Inspector Weymouth, 
who sat in a chair near the window, glanced appre- 
ciatively at the back of his subordinate, who still 
36 


37 


JOHN KFS 

stood looking out. Detective-sergeant Fletcher was 
one of Scotland Yard’s coming men. He had in- 
formation of the first importance to communicate, 
and Nayland Smith had delayed his departure upon 
an urgent errand in order to meet him. 

“ Your case to date, Mr. Smith,” continued 
Fletcher, remaining with hands locked behind him, 
staring from the window, “ reads something like 
this, I believe: A brass box, locked, contents un- 
known, has come into your possession. It stands 
now upon the table there. It was brought from 
Tibet by a man who evidently thought that it had 
something to do with the Si-Fan. He is dead, pos- 
sibly by the agency of members of this group. No 
arrests have been made. You know that there are 
people here in London who are anxious to regain the 
box. You have theories respecting the identity of 
some of them, but there are practically no facts.” 

Nayland Smith nodded his head. 

“ Exactly! ” he snapped. 

“ Inspector Weymouth, here,” continued Fletcher, 
“ has put me in possession of such facts as are known 
to him, and I believe that I have had the good for- 
tune to chance upon a valuable one.” 

“ You interest me, Sergeant Fletcher,” said Smith. 
“ What is the nature of this clue? ” 

“ I will tell you,” replied the other, and turned 
briskly upon his heel to face us. 

He had a dark, clean-shaven face, rather sallow 
complexion, and deep-set, searching eyes. There 


38 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

was decision in the square, cleft chin and strong 
character in the cleanly chiseled features. His man- 
ner was alert. 

“ I have specialized in Chinese crime,” he said; 
“ much of my time is spent amongst our Asiatic vis- 
itors. I am fairly familiar with the Easterns who 
use the port of London, and I have a number of use- 
ful acquaintances among them.” 

Nayland Smith nodded. Beyond doubt Detective- 
sergeant Fletcher knew his business. 

“ To my lasting regret,” Fletcher continued, “ I 
never met the late Dr. Fu-Manchu. I understand, 
sir, that you believe him to have been a high official 
of this dangerous society? However, I think w^e 
may get in touch with some other notabilities; for 
instance, Fm told that onie of the people you’re look- 
ing for has been described as ‘ the man with the 
limp’?” 

Smith, who had been about to relight his pipe, 
dropped the match on the carpet and set his foot 
upon it. His eyes shone like steel. 

“ ‘ The man with the limp,’ ” he said, and slowly 
rose to his feet — “ what do you know of the man 
with the limp ? ” 

Fletcher’s face flushed slightly; his words had 
proved more dramatic than he had anticipated. 

“ There’s a place down Shadwell way,” he re- 
plied, “of which, no doubt, you will have heard; 
it has no official title, but it is known to habitues as 
the Joy-Shop. ...” 


39 


JOHN KFS 

Inspector Weymouth stood up, his burly figure 
towering over that of his slighter confrere. 

“ I don’t think you know John Ki’s, Mr. Smith,” 
he said. “ We keep all those places pretty well pa- 
trolled, and until this present business cropped up, 
John’s establishment had never given us any trouble.” 

“ What is this Joy-Shop? ” I asked. 

“ A resort of shady characters, mostly Asiatics,” 
replied Weymouth. “ It’s a gambling-house, an un- 
licensed drinking-shop, and even worse — but it’s 
more use to us open than it would be shut.” 

“ It is one of my regular jobs to keep an eye on 
the visitors to the Joy-Shop,” continued Fletcher. 
“ I have many acquaintances who use the place. 
Needless to add, they don’t know my real business! 
Well, lately several of them have asked me if I 
know who the man is that hobbles about the place 
with two sticks. Everybody seems to have heard 
him, but no one has seen him.” 

Nayland Smith began to pace the floor restlessly. 

“ I have heard him myself,” added Fletcher, “ but 
never managed to get so much as a glimpse of him. 
When I learnt about this Si-Fan mystery, I realized 
that he might very possibly be the man for whom 
you’re looking — and a golden opportunity has 
cropped up for you to visit the Joy-Shop, and, if our 
luck remains in, to get a peep behind the scenes.” 

“ I am all attention,” snapped Smith. 

“ A woman called Zarmi has recently put in an 
appearance at the Joy-Shop. Roughly speaking. 


40 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


she turned up at about the same time as the unseen 
man with the limp. . . 

Nayland Smith’s eyes were blazing with sup- 
pressed excitement; he was pacing quickly up and 
down the floor, tugging at the lobe of his left ear. 

“ She is — different in some way from any other 
woman I have ever seen in the place. She’s a Eu- 
rasian and good-looking, after a tigerish fashion. 1 
have done my best ” — he smiled slightly — “ to get 
in her good books, and up to a point I’ve succeeded. 
I was there last night, and Zarmi asked me if I knew 
what she called a ‘ strong feller.’ 

“ ‘ These,’ she informed me, contemptuously re- 
ferring to the rest of the company, ‘ are poor weak 
Johnnies ! ’ 

“ I had nothing definite in view at the time, for I 
had not then heard about your return to London, 
but I thought it might lead to something anyway, 
so I promised to bring a friend along to-night. I 
don’t know what we’re wanted to do, but . . .” 

“ Count upon me ! ” snapped Smith. “ I will 
leave all details to you and to Weymouth, and I will 
be at New Scotland Yard this evening in time to 
adopt a suitable disguise. Petrie ” — he turned im- 
petuously to me — “ I fear I shall have to go with- 
out you ; but I shall be in safe company, as you see, 
and doubtless Weymouth can find you a part in his 
portion of the evening’s program.” 

He glanced at his watch. 

“ Ah 1 1 must be off. If you will oblige me, Petrie, 


JOHN KFS 41 

by putting the brass box into my smaller portman- 
teau, whilst I slip my coat on, perhaps Weymouth, 
on his way out, will be good enough to order a taxi. 
I shall venture to breathe again once our unpleasant 
charge is safely deposited in the bank vaults 1 ” 


CHAPTER VI 


THE SI-FAN MOVE 


SLIGHT drizzling rain was falling as Smith 



entered the cab which the hall-porter had 


summoned. The brown bag in his hand contained 
the brass box which actually was responsible for our 
presence in London. The last glimpse I had of him 
through the glass of the closed window showed him 
striking a match to light his pipe — which he rarely 
allowed to grow cool. 

Oppressed with an unaccountable weariness of 
spirit, I stood within the lobby looking out upon the 
grayness of London in November. A slight mental 
effort was sufficient to blot out that drab prospect 
and to conjure up before my mind’s eye a balcony 
overlooking the Nile — a glimpse of dusty palms, a 
white wall overgrown with purple blossoms, and 
above all the dazzling vault of Egypt. Upon the 
balcony my imagination painted a figure, limning it 
with loving details, the figure of Karamaneh; and I 
thought that her glorious eyes would be sorrowful 
and her lips perhaps a little tremulous, as, her arms 
resting upon the rail of the balcony, she looked out 
across the smiling river to the domes and minarets 
of Cairo — and beyond, into the hazy distance; see- 


42 


THE SI-FAN MOVE 


43 

ing me in dreary, rain-swept London, as I saw her, 
at Gezira, beneath the cloudless sky of Egypt. 

From these tender but mournful reflections 1 
aroused myself, almost angrily, and set off through 
the muddy streets towards Charing Cross; for I was 
availing myself of the opportunity to call upon Dr. 
Murray, who had purchased my small suburban prac- 
tise when (finally, as I thought at the time) I had 
left London. 

This matter occupied me for the greater part of 
the afternoon, and I returned to the New Louvre 
Hotel shortly after five, and seeing no one in the 
lobby whom I knew, proceeded immediately to our 
apartment. Nayland Smith was not there, and hav- 
ing made some changes in my attire I descended again 
and inquired if he had left any message for me. 

The booking-clerk informed me that Smith had 
not returned; therefore I resigned myself to wait. 
I purchased an evening paper and settled down in 
the lounge where I had an uninterrupted view of the 
entrance doors. The dinner hour approached, but 
still my friend failed to put in an appearance. Be- 
coming impatient, I entered a call-box and rang up 
Inspector Weymouth. 

Smith had not been to Scotland Yard, nor had 
they received any message from him. 

Perhaps it would appear that there was little 
cause for alarm in this, but I, familiar with my 
friend’s punctual and exact habits, became strangely 
uneasy. I did not wish to make myself ridiculous, 


44 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


but growing restlessness impelled me to institute in- 
quiries regarding the cabman who had driven my 
friend. The result of these was to increase rather 
than to allay my fears. 

The man was a stranger to the hall-porter, and he 
was not one of the taximen who habitually stood 
upon the neighboring rank; no one seemed to have 
noticed the number of the cab. 

And now my mind began to play with strange 
doubts and fears. The driver, I recollected, had 
been a small, dark man, possessing remarkably well- 
cut olive-hued features. Had he not worn spectacles 
he would indeed have been handsome, in an effemi- 
nate fashion. 

I was almost certain, by this time, that he had not 
been an Englishman; I was almost certain that some 
catastrophe had befallen Smith. Our ceaseless vig- 
ilance had been momentarily relaxed — and this was 
the result ! 

At some large bank branches there is a resident 
messenger. Even granting that such was the case 
in the present instance, I doubted if the man could 
help me, unless, as was possible, he chanced to be 
familiar with my friend’s appearance, and had actu- 
ally seen him there that day. I determined, at any 
rate, to make the attempt; reentering the call-box, 
I asked for the bank’s number. 

There proved to be a resident messenger, who, 
after a time, replied to my call. He knew Nayland 
Smith very well by sight, and as he had been on duty 


THE SI-FAN MOVE 


45 


in the public office of the bank at the time that Smith 
should have arrived, he assured me that my friend 
had not been there that day ! 

“ Besides, sir,” he said, “ you say he came to de- 
posit valuables of some kind here? ” 

“ Yes, yes! ” I cried eagerly. 

“ I take all such things down on the lift to the 
vaults at night, sir, under the supervision of the as- 
sistant manager — and I can assure you that noth- 
ing of the kind has been left with us to-day.” 

I stepped out of the call-box unsteadily. Indeed, 
I clutched at the door for support. 

“What is the meaning of Si-Fan?” Detective- 
sergeant Fletcher had asked that morning. None 
of us could answer him; none of us knew. With a 
haze seeming to dance between my eyes and the active 
life in the lobby before me, I realized that the Si- 
Fan — that unseen, sinister power — had reached 
out and plucked my friend from the very midst of 
this noisy life about me, into its own mysterious, 
deathly silence. 


CHAPTER VII 


CHINATOWN 

44y T’S no easy matter,” said Inspector Weymouth, 
X “ to patrol the vicinity of John Ki’s Joy-Shop 
without their getting wind of it. The entrance, as 
you’ll see, is a long, narrow rat-hole of a street run- 
ning at right angles to the Thames. There’s no 
point, so far as I know, from which the yard can be 
overlooked ; and the back is on a narrow cutting be- 
longing to a disused mill.” 

I paid little attention to his words. Disguised 
beyond all chance of recognition even by one inti- 
mate with my appearance, I was all impatience to 
set out. I had taken Smith’s place in the night’s 
program; for, every possible source of information 
having been tapped in vain, I now hoped against hope 
that some clue to the fate of my poor friend might 
be obtained at the Chinese den which he had designed 
to visit with Fletcher. 

The latter, who presented a strange picture in his 
make-up as a sort of half-caste sailor, stared doubt- 
fully at the Inspector ; then — 

” The River Police cutter,” he said, “ can drop 
down on the tide and lie off under the Surrey bank. 

46 


CHINATOWN 


47 


There’s a vacant wharf facing the end of the street, 
and we can slip through and show a light there, to 
let you know we’ve arrived. You reply in the same 
way. If there’s any trouble, I shall blaze away with 
this ” — he showed the butt of a Service revolver 
protruding from his hip-pocket — “and you can be 
ashore in no time.” 

The plan had one thing to commend it, viz., that 
no one could devise another. Therefore it was 
adopted, and five minutes later a taxi-cab swung 
out of the Yard containing Inspector Weymouth and 
two ruffianly looking companions — myself and 
Fletcher. 

Any zest with which, at another time, I might 
have entered upon such an expedition, was absent 
now. I bore with me a gnawing anxiety and sorrow 
that precluded all conversation on my part, save mon- 
osyllabic replies, to questions that I comprehended 
but vaguely. 

At the River Police Depot we found Inspector Ry- 
man, an old acquaintance, awaiting us. Weymouth 
had telephoned from Scotland Yard. 

“ I’ve got a motor-boat at the breakwater,” said 
Ryman, nodding to Fletcher, and staring hard at me. 

Weymouth laughed shortly. 

“ Evidently you don’t recognize Dr. Petrie ! ” he 
said. 

“ Eh ! ” cried Ryman — “ Dr. Petrie ! why, good 
heavens. Doctor, I should never have known you in 
a month of Bank holidays! What’s afoot, then? ” 


48 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

— and he turned to Weymouth, eyebrows raised in- 
terrogatively. 

“ It’s the Fu-Manchu business again, Ryman.” 

“ Fu-Manchu ! But I thought the Fu-Manchu 
case was off the books long ago? It was always a 
mystery to me; never a word in the papers; and 
we as much in the dark as everybody else' — but 
didn’t I hear that the Chinaman, Fu-Manchu, was 
dead?” 

Weymouth nodded. 

“ Some of his friends seem to be very much alive, 
though!” he said. ‘‘It appears that Fu-Manchu, 
for all his genius — and there’s no denying he was a 
genius, Ryman — was only the agent of somebody 
altogether bigger.” 

Ryman whistled softly. 

“ Has the real head of affairs arrived, then? ” 

“ We find we are up against what is known as the 
Si-Fan.” 

At that it came to the inevitable, unanswerable 
question. 

“ What is the Si-Fan? ” asked Ryman blankly. 

I laughed, but my laughter was not mirthful. In- 
spector Weymouth shook his head. 

“ Perhaps Mr. Nayland Smith could tell you that,” 
he replied; “ for the Si-Fan got him to-day! ” 

“ Got him ! ” cried Ryman. 

“ Absolutely ! He’s vanished ! And Fincher 
here has found out that John Ki’s place is in some 
way connected with this business.” 


CHINATOWN 


49 


I interrupted — impatiently, I fear. 

“ Then let us set out, Inspector,” I said, “ for it 
seems to me that we are wasting precious time — 
and you know what that may mean.” I turned to 
Fletcher. “Where is this place situated, exactly? 
How do we proceed? ” 

“ The cab can take us part of the way,” he re- 
plied, “ and we shall have to walk the rest. Patrons 
of John’s don’t turn up in taxis, as a rule! ” 

“ Then let us be off,” I said, and made for the 
door. 

“ Don’t forget the signal! ” Weymouth cried after 
me, “ and don’t venture into the place until you’ve 
received our reply. . . .” 

But I was already outside, Fletcher following; and 
a moment later we were both in the cab and off into 
a maze of tortuous streets toward John Ki’s Joy- 
Shop. 

With the coming of nightfall the rain had ceased,, 
but the sky remained heavily overcast and the air 
was filled with clammy mist. It was a night to 
arouse longings for Southern skies; and when, dis- 
charging the cabman, we set out afoot along a muddy 
and ill-lighted thoroughfare bordered on either side 
by high brick walls, their monotony occasionally 
broken by gateways, I felt that the load of depres- 
sion which had settled upon my shoulders must ere 
long bear me down. 

Sounds of shunting upon some railway siding came 
to my ears ; train whistles and fog signals hooted and 


50 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


boomed. River sounds there were, too, for we were 
close beside the Thames, that gray old stream which 
has borne upon its bier many a poor victim of under- 
ground London. The sky glowed sullenly red above. 

“ There’s the Joy-Shop, along on the left,” said 
Fletcher, breaking in upon my reflections. “ You’ll 
notice a faint light ; it’s shining out through the open 
door. Then, here is the wharf.” 

He began fumbling with the fastenings of a dila- 
pidated gateway beside which we were standing; and 
a moment later — 

“ All right — slip through,” he said. 

I followed him through the narrow gap which the 
ruinous state of the gates had enabled him to force, 
and found myself looking under a low arch, with 
the Thames beyond, and a few hazy lights coming 
and going on the opposite bank. 

“Go steady!” warned Fletcher. “It’s only a 
few paces to the edge of the wharf.” 

I heard him taking a box of matches from his 
pocket. 

“ Here is my electric lamp,” I said. “ It will 
serve the purpose better.” 

“ Good,” muttered my companion. “ Show a 
light down here, so that we^an find our way.” 

With the aid of the lamp we found our way out on 
to the rotting timbers of the crazy structure. The 
mist hung denser over the river, but through it, as 
through a dirty gauze curtain, it was possible to 
discern some of the greater lights on the opposite 


CHINATOWN 


51 

shore. These, without exception, however, showed 
high up upon the fog curtain; along the water level 
lay a belt of darkness. 

“ Let me give them the signal,” said Fletcher, 
shivering slightly and taking the lamp from my hand. 

He flashed the light two or three times. Then we 
both stood watching the belt of darkness that fol- 
lowed the Surrey shore. The tide lapped upon the 
timbers supporting the wharf and little whispers and 
gurgling sounds stole up from beneath our feet. 
Once there was a faint splash from somewhere below 
and behind us. 

“ There goes a rat,” said Fletcher vaguely, and 
without taking his gaze from the darkness under the 
distant shore. “ It’s gone into the cutting at the 
back of John Ki’s.” 

He ceased speaking and flashed the lamp again 
several times. Then, all at once out of the murky 
darkness into which we were peering, looked a little 
eye of light — once, twice, thrice it winked at us from 
low down upon the oily waters ; then was gone. 

“ It’s Weymouth with the cutter,” said Fletcher; 
“ they are ready . . . now for John Ki’s.” 

We stumbled back up the slight aclivity beneath 
the archway to the street, leaving the ruinous gates 
as we had found them. Into the uninviting little 
alley immediately opposite we plunged, and where 
the faint yellow luminance showed upon the muddy 
path before us, Fletcher paused a moment, whisper- 
ing to me warningly. 


52 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


“ Don’t speak if you can help it,” he said; “ if you | 
do, mumble any old jargon in any language you like, j 
and throw in plenty of cursing! ” 

He grasped me by the arm, and I found myself j 
crossing the threshold of the Joy-Shop — I found j 
myself in a meanly furnished room no more than i 
twelve feet square and very low ceiled, smelling i 
strongly of paraffin oil. The few items of furniture | 
which it contained were but dimly discernible in the | 
light of a common tin lamp which stood upon a pack- | 
ing-case at the head of what looked like cellar steps, j 
Abruptly, I pulled up; for this stuffy little den i 
did not correspond with pre-conceived ideas of the 
place for which we were bound. I was about to 
speak when Fletcher nipped my arm — and out from i 
the shadows behind the packing-case a little bent | 
figure arose 1 j 

I started violently, for I had had no idea that an- 
other was in the room. The apparition proved to be | 
a Chinaman, and judging from what I could see of ; 
him, a very old Chinaman, his bent figure attired in 
a blue smock. His eyes were almost invisible amidst | 
an intricate map of wrinkles which covered his yel- 
low face. 

“ Evening, John,” said Fletcher — and, pulling 
me with him, he made for the head of the steps. 

As I came abreast of the packing-case, the China- 
man lifted the lamp and directed its light fully upon 
my face. 

Great as was the faith which I reposed in my 


CHINATOWN 


55 


make-up, a doubt and a tremor disturbed me now, 
as I found myself thus scrutinized by those cunning 
old eyes looking out from the mask-like, apish face. 
For the first time the Chinaman spoke. 

“You blinger fliend, Charlie? ” he squeaked in a 
thin, piping voice. 

“ Him play piecee card,” replied Fletcher briefly. 
“ Good fellow, plenty much money.” 

He descended the steps, still holding my arm, and 
I perforce followed him. Apparently John’s scrut- 
iny and Fletcher’s explanation respecting me, to- 
gether had proved satisfactory; for the lamp was 
replaced upon the lid of the packing-case, and the 
little bent figure dropped down again into the shad- 
ows from which it had emerged. 

“ Allee lightee,” I heard faintly as I stumbled 
downward in the wake of Fletcher. 

I had expected to find myself in a cellar, but in- 
stead discovered that we were in a small square court 
with the mist of the night about us again. On a 
doorstep facing us stood a duplicate of the lamp upon 
the box upstairs. Evidently this was designed to 
indicate the portals of the Joy-Shop, for Fletcher 
pushed open the door, whose threshold accommo- 
dated the lamp, and the light of the place beyond 
shone out into our faces. We entered and my com- 
panion closed the door behind us. 

Before me I perceived a long low room lighted by 
flaming gas-burners, the jets hissing and spluttering 
in the draught from the door, for they were entirely 


54 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


innocent of shades or mantles. Wooden tables, 
their surfaces stained with the marks of countless 
wet glasses, were ranged about the place, cafe fash- 
ion ; and many of these tables accommodated groups, 
of nondescript nationality for the most part. One 
or two there were in a distant corner who were un- 
mistakably Chinamen; but my slight acquaintance 
with the races of the East did not enable me to clas- 
sify the greater number of those whom I now saw 
about me. There were several unattractive-looking 
women present. 

Fletcher walked up the center of the place, ex- 
changing nods of recognition with two hang-dog 
poker-players, and I was pleased to note that our 
advent had apparently failed to attract the slightest 
attention. Through an opening on the right-hand 
side of the room, near the top, I looked into a smaller 
apartment, occupied exclusively by Chinese. They 
were playing some kind of roulette and another 
game which seemed wholly to absorb their interest. 
I ventured no more than a glance, then passed on 
with my companion. 

Fan-tan! he whispered in my ear. 

Other forms of gambling were in progress at some 
of the tables; and now Fletcher silently drew my 
attention to yet a third dimly lighted apartment — 
this opening out from the left-hand corner of the 
principal room. The atmosphere of the latter was 
sufficiently abominable; indeed, the stench was ap- 
palling; but a wave of choking vapor met me as I 


CHINATOWN 


55 


paused for a moment at the threshold of this inner 
sanctuary. I formed but the vaguest impression of 
its interior; the smell was sufficient. This annex 
was evidently reserved for opium-smokers. 

Fletcher sat down at a small table near by, and I 
took a common wooden chair which he thrust for- 
ward with his foot. What should be our next move 
I could not conjecture. I was looking around at the 
sordid scene, filled with a bitter sense of my own 
impotency to aid my missing friend, when that oc- 
curred which set my heart beating wildly at once 
with hope and excitement. Fletcher must have seen 
something of this in my attitude, for — 

‘‘ Don’t forget what I told you,” he whispered* 
“Be cautious! — be very cautious! . . 


CHAPTER VIII 

ZARMI OF THE JOY-SHOP 

D own the center of the room came a girl 
carrying the only ornamental object which 
thus far I had seen in the Joy-Shop : a large Oriental 
brass tray. She was a figure which must have 
formed a center of interest in any place, trebly so, 
then, in such a place as this. Her costume consisted 
in a series of incongruities, whilst the entire effect 
was barbaric and by no means unpicturesque. She 
wore high-heeled red slippers, and, as her short gauzy 
skirt rendered amply evident, black silk stockings. 
A brilliantly colored Oriental scarf was wound 
around her waist and knotted in front, its tasseled 
ends swinging girdle fashion. A sort of chemise — 
like the ^anteree of Egyptian women — completed 
her costume, if I except a number of barbaric orna- 
ments, some of them of silver, with which her hands 
and arms were bedecked. 

But strange as was the girl’s attire, it was to her 
face that my gaze was drawn irresistibly. Evidently, 
like most of those around us, she was some kind of 
half-caste; but, unlike them, she was wickedly hand- 
some. I use the adverb wickedly with deliberation; 
for the pallidly dusky, oval face, with the full red 
lips, between which rested a large yellow cigarette, 
56 


ZARMI OF THE JOY-SHOP 57 

and the half-closed almond-shaped eyes, possessed a 
beauty which might have appealed to an artist of one 
of the modern perverted schools, but which filled me 
less with admiration than with horror. For I knew 
her — I recognized her, from a past, brief meeting; 
I knew her, beyond all possibility of doubt, to be one 
of the Si-Fan group ! 

This strange creature, tossing back her jet-black, 
frizzy hair, which was entirely innocent of any bind- 
ing or ornament, advanced along the room towards 
us, making unhesitatingly for our table, and carrying 
her lithe body with the grace of a Ghdzeeyeh, 

I glanced at Fletcher across the table. 

“ Zarmi ! ” he whispered. 

Again I raised my eyes to the face which now was 
close to mine, and became aware that I was tremb- 
ling with excitement. . . . 

Heavens! why did enlightenment come too late! 
Either I was the victim of an odd delusion, or Zarmi 
had been the driver of the cab in which Nayland 
Smith had left the New Louvre Hotel I 

Zarmi placed the brass tray upon the table and 
bent down, resting her elbows upon it, her hands 
upturned and her chin nestling in her palms. The 
smoke from the cigarette, now held in her fingers, 
mingled with her dishevelled hair. She looked fully 
into my face, a long, searching look; then her lips 
parted in the slow, voluptuous smile of the Orient. 
Without moving her head she turned the wonderful 
eyes (rendered doubly luminous by the kohl with 


58 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

which her lashes and lids were darkened) upon 
Fletcher. 

‘‘What you and your strong friend drinking?” 
she said softly. 

Her voice possessed a faint husky note which be- 
trayed her Eastern parentage, yet it had in it the 
siren lure which is the ancient heritage of the 
Eastern woman — a heritage more ancient than the 
tribe of the Ghdzeeyeh, to one of whom I had men- 
tally likened Zarmi. 

“ Same thing,” replied Fletcher promptly; and, 
raising his hand, he idly toyed with a huge gold ear- 
ring which she wore. 

Still resting her elbows upon the table and bend- 
ing down between us, Zarmi turned her slumbering, 
half-closed black eyes again upon me, then slowly, 
languishingly, upon Fletcher. She replaced the 
yellow cigarette between her lips. He continued to 
toy with the ear-ring. 

Suddenly the girl sprang upright, and from its 
hiding-place within the silken scarf, plucked out a 
Malay krts with a richly jeweled hilt. Her eyes 
now widely opened and blazing, she struck at my 
companion! 

I half rose from my chair, stifling a cry of horror; 
but Fletcher, regarding her fixedly, never moved 
. . . and Zarmi stayed her hand just as the point of 
the dagger had reached his throat ! 

“ You see,” she whispered softly but intensely, 
“ how soon I can kill you.” 


59 


ZARMI OF THE JOY-SHOP 

Ere I had overcome the amazement and horror 
with which her action had filled me, she had sud- 
denly clutched me by the shoulder, and, turning 
from Fletcher, had the point of the krh at my throat 1 

“ You, too! ” she whispered, “ you tool ” 

Lower and lower she bent, the needle point of the 
weapon pricking my skin, until her beautiful, evil 
face almost touched mine. Then, miraculously, the 
fire died out of her eyes; they half closed again and 
became languishing, luresome Ghdzeeyeh eyes. She 
laughed softly, wickedly, and puffed cigarette smoke 
into my face. 

Thrusting her dagger into her waist-belt, and 
snatching up the brass, tray, she swayed down the 
room, chanting some barbaric song in her husky 
Eastern voice. 

I inhaled deeply and glanced across at my com- 
panion. Beneath the make-up with which I had 
stained my skin, I knew that I had grown more than 
a little pale. 

“ Fletcher! ” I whispered, “ we are on the eve of 
a great discovery — that girl . . 

I broke off, and clutching the table with both 
hands, sat listening intently. 

From the room behind me, the opium-room, 
whose entrance was less than two paces from where 
we sat, came a sound of dragging and tapping! 
Slowly, cautiously, I began to turn my head; when 
a sudden outburst of simian chattering from the fan- 
tan players drowned that other sinister sound. 


6o THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


“ You heard it, Doctor! ” hissed Fletcher. 

“ The man with the limp 1 ” I said hoarsely; “ he 
is in there 1 Fletcher 1 I am utterly confused. I 
believe this place to hold the key to the whole mys- 
tery, I believe . . 

Fletcher gave me a warning glance — and, turning 
anew, I saw Zarmi approaching with her sinuous 
gait, carrying two glasses and a jug upon the ornate 
tray. These she set down upon the table; then 
stood spinning the salver cleverly upon the point 
of her index finger and watching us through half- 
closed eyes. 

My companion took out some loose coins, but the 
girl thrust the proffered payment aside with her dis- 
engaged hand, the salver still whirling upon the up- 
raised finger of the other. 

Presently you pay for drink,” she said. “ You 
do something for me — eh ? ” 

“ Yep,” replied Fletcher nonchalantly, watering 
the rum in the tumblers. “ What time? ” 

“ Presently I tell you. You stay here. This one 
a strong feller? ” — indicating myself. 

“ Sure,” drawled Fletcher; “ strong as a mule he 
is.” 

“ All right. I give him one little kiss if he good 
boy!” 

Tossing the tray in the air she caught it, rested 
its edge upon her hip, turned, and walked away down 
the room, puffing her cigarette. 

“ Listen,” I said, bending across the table, “ it was 


ZARMI OF THE JOY-SHOP 6i 

Zarmi who drove the cab that came for Nayland 
Smith to-day ! ” 

“ My God ! ” whispered Fletcher, “ then it was 
nothing less than the hand of Providence that 
brought us here to-night. Yes! I know how you 
feel, Doctor ! — but we must play our cards as 
they’re dealt to us. We must wait — wait.” 

Out from the den of the opium-smokers came 
Zarmi, one hand resting upon her hip and the other 
uplifted, a smoldering yellow cigarette held between 
the first and second fingers. With a movement of 
her eyes she summoned us to join her, then turned 
and disappeared again through the low doorway. 

The time for action was arrived — we were to see 
behind the scenes of the Joy-Shop ! Our chance 
would come — I never doubted it — our chance to 
revenge poor Smith even if we could not save him. 
I became conscious of an inward and suppressed 
excitement; surreptitiously I felt the hilt of the 
Browning pistol in my pocket. The shadow of the 
dead Fu-Manchu seemed to be upon me. God ! how 
I loathed and feared that memory ! 

“ We can make no plans,” I whispered to Fletcher, 
as together we rose from the table; “we must be 
guided by circumstance.” 

In order to enter the little room laden with those 
sickly opium fumes we had to lower our heads. Two 
steps led down into the place, which was so dark 
that I hesitated, momentarily, peering about me. 


62 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


Apparently some four or five persons squatted and 
lay in the darkness about me. Some were couched 
upon rough wooden shelves ranged around the walls, 
others sprawled upon the floor, in the center whereof, 
upon a small tea-chest, stood a smoky brass lamp. 
The room and its occupants alike were indeterminate, 
sketchy; its deadly atmosphere seemed to be suffocat- 
ing me. A sort of choking sound came from one of 
the bunks; a vague, obscene murmuring filled the 
whole place revoltingly. 

Zarmi stood at the further end, her lithe figure 
silhouetted against the vague light coming through 
an open doorway. I saw her raise her hand, beckon- 
ing to us. 

Circling around the chest supporting the lamp we 
crossed the foul den and found ourselves jn a narrow, 
dim passage-way, but in cleaner air. 

“ Come,” said Zarmi, extending her long, slim 
hand to me. 

I took it, solely for guidance in the gloom, and she 
immediately drew my arm about her waist, leant 
back against my shoulder and, raising her pouted 
red lips, blew a cloud of tobacco smoke fully into 
my eyes ! 

Momentarily blinded, I drew back with a muttered 
exclamation. Suspecting what I did of this tigerish 
half-caste, I could almost have found it in my heart 
to return her savage pleasantries with interest. 

As I raised my hands to my burning eyes, Fletcher 
uttered a sharp cry of pain. I turned in time to see 


ZARMI OF THE JOY-SHOP 63 

the girl touch him lightly on the neck with the burn- 
ing tip of her cigarette. 

“You jealous, eh, Charlie?” she said. “But I 
love you, too — see I Come along, you strong 
fellers. . . .” 

And away she went along the passage, swaying her 
hips lithely and glancing back over her shoulders in 
smiling coquetry. 

Tears were still streaming from my eyes when I 
found myself standing in a sort of rough shed, stone- 
paved, and containing a variety of nondescript 
rubbish. A lantern stood upon the floor; and be- 
side it . . . 

The place seemed to be swimming around me, the 
stone floor to be heaving beneath my feet. . . . 

Beside the lantern stood a wooden chest, some six 
feet long, and having strong rope handles at either 
end. Evidently the chest had but recently been 
nailed up. As Zarmi touched it lightly with the 
pointed toe of her little red slipper I clutched at 
Fletcher for support. 

Fletcher grasped my arm in a vice-like grip. To 
him, too, had come the ghsistly conviction — the 
gruesome thought that neither of us dared to name. 

It was Nayland Smith’s coffin that we were to 
carry ! 

“ Through here,” came dimly to my ears, “ and 
then I tell you what to do. . . .” 

Coolness returned to me, suddenly, unaccountably. 
I doubted not for an instant that the best friend I 


64 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

had in the world lay dead there at the feet of the 
hellish girl who called herself Zarmi, and I knew 
since it was she, disguised, who had driven him to 
his doom, that she must have been actively concerned 
in his murder. 

But, I argued, although the damp night air was 
pouring in through the door which Zarmi now held 
open, although sound of Thames-side activity came 
stealing to my ears, we were yet within the walls of 
the Joy-Shop, with a score or more Asiatic ruffians 
at the woman’s beck and call. . . . 

With perfect truth I can state that I retain not 
even a shadowy recollection of aiding Fletcher to 
move the chest out on to the brink of the cutting — 
for it was upon this that the door directly opened. 
The mist had grown denser, and except a glimpse of 
slowly moving water beneath me, I could discern 
little of our surroundings. 

So much I saw by the light of a lantern which 
stood in the stern of a boat. In the bows of this 
boat I was vaguely aware of the presence of a 
crouched figure enveloped in rugs — vaguely aware 
that two filmy eyes regarded me out of the darkness. 
A man who looked like a lascar stood upright in the 
stern. 

I must have been acting like a man in a stupor; 
for I was aroused to the realities by the contact of 
a burning cigarette with the lobe of my right ear! 

“ Hurry, quick, strong feller! ” said Zarmi softly. 

At that it seemed as though some fine nerve of my 


ZARMI OF THE JOY-SHOP 6^ 

brain, already strained to utmost tension, snapped, 
I turned, with a wild, inarticulate cry, my fists raised 
frenziedly above my head. 

“You fiend!” I shrieked at the mocking Eura- 
sian, “ you yellow fiend of hell 1 ” 

I was beside myself, insane. Zarmi fell back a 
step, flashing a glance from my own contorted face 
to that, now pale even beneath its artificial tan, of 
Fletcher. 

I snatched the pistol from my pocket, and for one 
fateful moment the lust of slaying claimed my mind. 
. . . Then I turned towards the river, and, raising 
the Browning, fired shot after shot in the air. 

“ Weymouth I ” I cried. “ Weymouth ! ” 

A sharp hissing sound came from behind me; a 
short, muffled cry . . . and something descended, 
crushingly, upon my skull. Like a wild cat Zarmi 
hurled herself past me and leapt into the boat. One 
glimpse I had of her pallidly dusky face, of her 
blazing black eyes, and the boat was thrust off into 
the waterway . . . was swallowed up in the mist. 

I turned, dizzily, to see Fletcher sinking to his 
knees, one hand clutching his breast. 

“ She got me . . . with the knife,” he whispered. 
“ But . . . don’t worry . . . look to yourself, and 
. . . him. . . .” 

He pointed, weakly — then collapsed at my feet. 
I threw myself upon the wooden chest with a fierce, 
sobbing cry. 

“ Smith, Smith 1 ” I babbled, and knew myself 


66 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


no better, In my sorrow, than an hysterical woman. 
“ Smith, dear old man ! speak to me I speak to 
me ! . . 

Outraged emotion overcame me utterly, and with 
my arms thrown across the box, I slipped into un- 
consciousness. 


CHAPTER IX 


FU-MANCHU 

M any poignant recollections are mine, more 
of them bitter than sweet; but no one of 
them all can compare with the memory of that mo- 
ment of my awakening. 

Weymouth was supporting me, and my throat still 
tingled from the effects of the brandy which he had 
forced between my teeth from his flask. My heart 
was beating irregularly; my mind yet partly inert. 
With something compound of horror and hope I lay 
staring at one who was anxiously bending over the 
Inspector’s shoulder, watching me. 

It was Nayland Smith. 

A whole hour of silence seemed to pass, ere speech 
became possible ; then — 

“ Smith! ” I whispered, “ are you . . .” 

Smith grasped my outstretched, questing hand, 
grasped it firmly, warmly; and I saw his gray eyes 
to be dim in the light of the several lanterns around 
us. 

“Am I alive?” he said. “Dear old Petrie! 
Thanks to you, I am not only alive, but free ! ” 

My head was buzzing like a hive of bees, but I 
managed, aided by Weymouth, to struggle to my 
67 


68 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


feet. Muffled sounds of shouting and scuffling 
reached me. Two men in the uniform of the 
Thames Police were carrying a limp body in at the 
low doorway communicating with the infernal Joy- 
shop. 

“ IPs Fletcher,” said Weymouth, noting the 
anxiety expressed in my face. ‘‘ His missing lady 
friend has given him a nasty wound, but he’ll pull 
round all right.” 

“ Thank God for that,” I replied, clutching my 
aching head. “ I don’t know what weapon she em- 
ployed in my case, but it narrowly missed achieving 
her purpose.” 

My eyes, throughout, were turned upon Smith, 
for his presence there, alive, still seemed to me 
miraculous. 

“ Smith,” I said, “ for Heaven’s sake enlighten 
me ! I never doubted that you were . . .” 

“ In the wooden chest! ” concluded Smith grimly. 
“Look!” 

He pointed to something that lay behind me. I 
turned, and saw the box which had occasioned me 
such anguish. The top had been wrenched off and 
the contents exposed to view. It was filled with a 
variety of gold ornaments, cups, vases, silks, and 
barbaric brocaded raiment; it might well have con- 
tained the loot of a cathedral. Inspector Weymouth 
laughed gruffly at my surprise. 

“ What is it? ” I asked, in a voice of amazement. 

“ It’s the treasure of the Si-Fan, I presume,” 


FU-MANCHU 


69 

rapped Smith. “ Where it has come from and where 
it was going to, it must be my immediate business 
to ascertain.” 

“ Then you . . .” 

“ I was lying, bound and gagged, upon one of the 
upper shelves in the opium-den! I heard you and 
Fletcher arrive. I saw you pass through later with 
that she-devil who drove the cab to-day . . .” 

‘‘ Then the cab ...” 

“ The windows were fastened, unopenable, and 
some anaesthetic was injected into the interior 
through a tube — the speaking-tube. I know noth- 
ing further, except that our plans must have leaked 
out in some mysterious fashion. Petrie, my sus- 
picions point to high quarters. The Si-Fan score 
thus far, for unless the search now in progress brings 
it to light, we must conclude that they have the brass 
coffer.” 

He was interrupted by a sudden loud crying of his 
name. 

“Mr. Nayland Smith!” came from somewhere 
within the Joy-Shop. “This way, sir! ” 

Off he went, in his quick, impetuous manner, 
whilst I stood there, none too steadily, wondering 
what discovery this outcry portended. I had not 
long to wait. Out by the low doorway came Smith, 
a grimly triumphant smile upon his face, carrying 
the missing brass coffer I 

He set it down upon the planking before me. 

“ John Ki,” he said, “ who was also on the miss- 


70 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

ing list, had dragged the thing out of the cellar where 
it was hidden, and in another minute must have 
slipped away with it. Detective Deacon saw the 
light shining through a crack in the floor. I shall 
never forget the look John gave us when we came 
upon him, as, lamp in hand, he hent over the precious 
chest.” 

“ Shall you open it now? ” 

“ No.” He glanced at me oddly. “ I shall have 
it valued in the morning by Messrs. Meyerstein.” 

He was keeping something back; I was sure of it. 

“ Smith,” I said suddenly, “ the man with the 
limp ! I heard him in the place where you were con- 
fined! Did you . . .” 

Nayland Smith clicked his teeth together sharply, 
looking straightly and grimly into my eyes. 

“I saw him!” he replied slowly; “and unless 
the effects of the anaesthetic had not wholly worn 
off . . .” 

“Well!” I cried. 

“ The man with the limp is Dr. Fu-Manchu! ” 


CHAPTER X 

THE TULUN-NUR CHEST 



HIS box,” said Mr. Meyerstein, bending 


i attentively over the carven brass coffer upon 
the table, “ is certainly of considerable value, and 
possibly almost unique.” 

Nayland Smith glanced across at me with a slight 
smile. Mr. Meyerstein ran one fat finger tenderly 
across the heavily embossed figures, which, like bar- 
nacles, encrusted the sides and lid of the weird curio 
v/hich we had summoned him to appraise. 

“What do you think, Lewison? ” he added, 
glancing over his shoulder at the clerk who accom- 
panied him. 

Lewison, whose flaxen hair and light blue eyes al- 
most served to mask his Semitic origin, shrugged 
his shoulders in a fashion incongruous in one of his 
complexion, though characteristic in one of his 
name. 

“ It is as you say, Mr. Meyerstein, an example of 
early Tulun-Nur work,” he said. “ It may be six- 
teenth century or even earlier. The Kuren treasure- 
chest in the Hague Collection has points of similar- 
ity, but the workmanship of this specimen is infinitely 


finer.” 


“ In a word, gentlemen,” snapped Nayland Smith, 


72 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


rising from the arm-chair in which he had been sit- 
ting, and beginning restlessly to pace the room, “ in 
a word, you would be prepared to make me a sub- 
stantial offer for this box? ” 

Mr. Meyerstein, his shrewd eyes twinkling behind 
the pebbles of his pince-nez, straightened himself 
slowly, turned in the ponderous manner of a fat man, 
and readjusted the pince-nez upon his nose. He 
cleared his throat. 

“ I have not yet seen the interior of the box, Mr. 
Smith,” he said. 

Smith paused in his perambulation of the carpet 
and stared hard at the celebrated art dealer. 

“ Unfortunately,” he replied, “ the key is miss- 
ing.” 

“Ah!” cried the assistant, Lewison, excitedly, 
“ you are mistaken, sir 1 Coffers of this description 
and workmanship are nearly always complicated 
conjuring tricks; they rarely open by any such ra- 
tional means as lock and key. For instance, the 
Kuren treasure-chest to which I referred, opens by 
an intricate process involving the pressing of certain 
knobs in the design, and the turning of others.” 

“ It was ultimately opened,” said Mr. Meyerstein, 
with a faint note of professional envy in his voice, 
“ by one of Christie’s experts.” 

“ Does my memory mislead me,” I interrupted, 
“ or was it not regarding the possession of the chest 
to which you refer, that the celebrated case of 
‘ Hague versus Jacobs ’ arose? ” 


THE TULUN-NUR CHEST 


73 


“ You are quite right, Dr. Petrie,’’ said Meyer- 
stein, turning to me. “ The original owner, a mem- 
ber of the Younghusband Expedition, had been un- 
able to open the chest. When opened at Christie’s 
it proved to contain jewels and other valuables. It 
was a curious case, wasn’t it, Lewison?” turning 
to his clerk. 

“Very,” agreed the other absently; then — 
“ Have you endeavored to open this box, Mr. 
Smith?” 

Nayland Smith shook his head grimly. 

“ From its weight,” said Meyerstein, “ I am in- 
clined to think that the contents might prove of in- 
terest. With your permission I will endeavor to 
open it.” 

Nayland Smith, tugging reflectively at the lobe of 
his left ear, stood looking at the expert. Then — 

“ I do not care to attempt it at present,” he said. 

Meyerstein and his clerk stared at the speaker in 
surprise. 

“ But you would be mad,” cried the former, “ if 
you accepted an offer for the box, whilst ignorant 
of the nature of its contents.” 

“ But I have invited no offer,” said Smith. “ I 
do not propose to sell.” 

Meyerstein adjusted his pince-nez again. 

“ I am a business man,” he said, “ and I will make 
a business proposal: A hundred guineas for the 
box, cash down, and our commission to be ten per 
cent on the proceeds of the contents. You must re- 


74 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

member,” raising a fat forefinger to check Smith, 
who was about to interrupt him, “ that it may be 
necessary to force the box in order to open it, thereby 
decreasing its market value and making it a bad 
bargain at a hundred guineas.” 

Nayland Smith met my gaze across the room; 
again a slight smile crossed the lean, tanned face. 

“ I can only reply, Mr. Meyerstein,” he said, “ in 
this way: if I desire to place the box on the market, 
you shall have first refusal, and the same applies to 
the contents, if any. For the moment if you will 
send me a note of your fee, I shall be obliged.” He 
raised his hand with a conclusive gesture. “ I am 
not prepared to discuss the question of sale any 
further at present, Mr. Meyerstein.” 

At that the dealer bowed, took up his hat from 
the table, and prepared to depart. Lewison opened 
the door and stood aside. 

“ Good morning, gentlemen,” said Meyerstein. 

As Lewison was about to follow him — 

“ Since you do not intend to open the box,” he 
said, turning, his hand upon the door knob, “ have 
you any idea of its contents? ” 

“ None,” replied Smith; “ but with my present in- 
adequate knowledge of its history, I do not care to 
open it.” 

Lewison smiled skeptically. 

“ Probably you know best,” he said, bowed to us 
both, and retired. 

When the door was closed — 


THE TULUN-NUR CHEST 


75 


“ You see, Petrie,” said Smith, beginning to stuff 
tobacco into his briar, “ if we are ever short of funds^ 
here’s something” — pointing to the Tulun-Nur box 
upon the table — “ which would retrieve our fallen 
fortunes.” 

He uttered one of his rare, boyish laughs, and 
began to pace the carpet again, his gaze always set 
upon our strange treasure. What did it contain? 

The manner in which it had come into our posses- 
sion suggested that it might contain something of 
the utaost value to the Yellow group. For we knew 
the house of John Ki to be, if not the head-quarters, 
certainly a meeting-place of the mysterious organi- 
zation the Si-Fan; we knew that Dr. Fu-Manchu 
used the place — Dr. Fu-Manchu, the uncanny being 
whose existence seemingly proved him immune from 
natural laws, a deathless incarnation of evil. 

My gaze set upon the box, I wondered anew what 
strange, dark secrets it held; I wondered how many 
murders and crimes greater than murder blackened 
its history. 

“ Smith,” I said suddenly, “ now that the mystery 
of the absence of a key-hole is explained, I am sorely 
tempted to essay the task of opening the coffer. I 
think it might help us to a solution of the whole 
mystery.” 

“ And I think otherwise ! ” interrupted my friend 
grimly. “ In a word, Petrie, I look upon this box 
as a sort of hostage by means of which — who knows 
— we might one day buy our lives from the enemy. 


76 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

I have a sort of fancy, call it superstition if you will, 
that nothing — not even our miraculous good luck 
— could save us if once we ravished its secret” 

I stared at him amazedly; this was a new phase 
in his character. 

“ I am conscious of something almost like a 
spiritual unrest,” he continued. “ Formerly you 
were endowed with a capacity for divining the pres- 
ence of Fu-Manchu or his agents. Some such sec- 
ond-sight would appear to have visited me now, and 
it directs me forcibly to avoid opening the box.” 

His steps as he paced the floor grew more and 
more rapid. He relighted his pipe, which had gone 
out as usual, and tossed the match-end into the 
hearth. 

“ To-morrow,” he said, “ I shall lodge the coffer 
in a place of greater security. Come along, Petrie, 
Weymouth is expecting us at Scotland Yard.” 


CHAPTER XI 


IN THE FOG 

Smith,” I began, as my friend hurried 
X3 me along the corridor, “ you are not going 
to leave the box unguarded? ” 

Nayland Smith tugged at my arm, and, glancing 
at him, I saw him frowningly shake his head. Ut- 
terly mystified, I nevertheless understood that for 
some reason he desired me to preserve silence for 
the present. Accordingly I said no more until the 
lift brought us down into the lobby and we had 
passed out from the New Louvre Hotel, crossed the 
busy thoroughfare and entered the buffet of an es- 
tablishment not far distant. My friend having 
ordered cocktails — 

“ And now perhaps you will explain to me the 
reason for your mysterious behavior?” said I. 

Smith, placing my glass before me, glanced about 
him to right and left, and having satisfied himself 
that his words could not be overheard — 

“ Petrie,” he whispered, “ I believe we are spied 
upon at the New Louvre.” 

“ What! ” 

“ There are spies of the Si-Fan — of Fu-Manchu 
— amongst the hotel servants! We have good 
77 


78 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

reason to believe that Dr. Fu-Manchu at one time 
was actually in the building, and we have been com- 
pelled to draw attention to the state of the electric 
fittings in our apartments, which enables any one in 
the corridor above to spy upon us.” 

“ Then why do you stay? ” 

“ For a very good reason, Petrie, and the same 
that prompts me to retain the Tulun-Nur box in my 
own possession rather than to deposit it in the strong- 
room of my bank.” 

“ I begin to understand.” 

“ I trust you do, Petrie ; it is fairly obvious. 
Probably the plan is a perilous one, but I hope, by 
laying myself open to attack, to apprehend the en- 
emy — perhaps to make an important capture.” 

Setting down my glass, I stared in silence at Smith. 

“ I will anticipate your remark,” he said, smiling 
dryly. “ I am aware that I am not entitled to ex- 
pose you to these dangers. It is my duty and I must 
perform it as best I can; you, as a volunteer, are 
perfectly entitled to withdraw.” 

As I continued silently to stare at him, his expres- 
sion changed; the gray eyes grew less steely, and 
presently, clapping his hand upon my shoulder in his 
impulsive way — 

“ Petrie ! ” he cried, “ you know I had no inten- 
tion of hurting your feelings, but in the circumstances 
it was impossible for me to say less.” 

“ You have said enough. Smith,” I replied shortly. 
“ I beg of you to say no more.” 


IN THE FOG 


79 

He gripped my shoulder hard, then plunged his 
hand into his pocket and pulled out the blackened 
pipe. 

“We see it through together, then, though God 
knows whither it will lead us.” 

“ In the first place,” I interrupted, “ since you 
have left the chest unguarded ” 

“ I locked the door.” 

“ What is a mere lock where Fu-Manchu is con- 
cerned?” 

Nayland Smith laughed almost gaily. 

“ Really, Petrie,” he cried, “ sometimes I cannot 
believe that you mean me to take you seriously. 
Inspector Weymouth has engaged the room imme- 
diately facing our door, and no one can enter or 
leave the suite unseen by him.” 

“ Inspector Weymouth? ” 

“ Oh ! for once he has stooped to a disguise : 
spectacles, and a muffler which covers his face right 
up to the tip of his nose. Add to this a prodigious 
overcoat and an asthmatic cough, and you have a 
picture of Mr. Jonathan Martin, the occupant of 
room No. 239.” 

I could not repress a smile upon hearing this de- 
scription. 

“ No. 239,” continued Smith, “ contains two beds, 
and Mr. Martin’s friend will be joining him there 
this evening.” 

Meeting my friend’s questioning glance, I nodded 
comprehendingly. 


8o THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


“ Then what part do I play? ” 

“ Ostensibly we both leave town this evening,”' 
he explained; “but I have a scheme whereby you 
will be enabled to remain behind. We shall thus 
have one watcher inside and two out.” 

“ It seems almost absurd,” I said incredulously, 
“ to expect any member of the Yellow group to at- 
tempt anything in a huge hotel like the New Louvre, 
here in the heart of London ! ” 

Nayland Smith, having lighted his pipe, stretched 
his arms and stared me straight in the face. 

“ Has Fu-Manchu never attempted outrage, mur- 
der, in the heart of London before? he snapped. 

The words were sufficient. Remembering black 
episodes of the past (one at least of them had oc- 
curred not a thousand yards from the very spot 
upon which we now stood) , I knew that I had spoken 
folly. 

Certain arrangements were made then, including 
a visit to Scotland Yard; and a plan — though it 
sounds anomalous — at once elaborate and simple, 
was put into execution in the dusk of the evening. 

London remained in the grip of fog, and when 
we passed along the corridor communicating with 
our apartments, faint streaks of yellow vapor 
showed in the light of the lamp suspended at the 
further end. I knew that Nayland Smith suspected 
the presence of some spying contrivance in our 
rooms, although I was unable to conjecture how this 
could have been managed without the connivance of 


IN THE FOG 


8i 


the management. In pursuance of his idea, how- 
ever, he extinguished the lights a moment before we 
actually quitted the suite. Just within the door he 
helped me to remove the somewhat conspicuous 
check traveling-coat which I wore. With this upon 
his arm he opened the door and stepped out into the 
corridor. 

As the door slammed upon his exit, I heard him 
cry: “Come along, Petrie! we have barely five 
minutes to catch our train.” 

Detective Carter of New Scotland Yard had 
joined him at the threshold, and muffled up in the 
gray traveling-coat was now hurrying with Smith 
along the corridor and out of the hotel. Carter, in 
build and features, was not unlike me, and I did not 
doubt that any one who might be spying upon our 
movements would be deceived by this device. 

In the darkness of the apartment I stood listening 
to the retreating footsteps in the corridor. A sense 
of loneliness and danger assailed me. I knew that 
Inspector Weymouth was watching and listening 
from the room immediately opposite; that he held 
Smith’s key; that I could summon him to my assist- 
ance, if necessary, in a matter of seconds. 

Yet, contemplating the vigil that lay before me 
in silence and darkness, I cannot pretend that my 
frame of mind was buoyant. I could not smoke; I 
must make no sound. 

As pre-arranged, I cautiously removed my boots, 
and as cautiously tiptoed across the carpet and seated 


82 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


myself in an arm-chair. I determined there to await 
the arrival of Mr. Jonathan Martin’s friend, which 
I knew could not now be long delayed. 

The clocks were striking eleven when he arrived, 
and in the perfect stillness of that upper corridor, 
I heard the bustle which heralded his approach, 
heard the rap upon the door opposite, followed by 
a muffled “ Come in ” from Weymouth. Then, as 
the door was opened, I heard the sound of a wheezy 
cough. 

A strange cracked voice (which, nevertheless, I 
recognized for Smith’s) cried, “Hullo, Martini — 
cough no better? ” 

Upon that the door was closed again, and as the 
retreating footsteps of the servant died away, com- 
plete silence — that peculiar silence which comes 
with fog — descended once more upon the upper 
part of the New Louvre Hotel. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE VISITANT 

T hat first hour of watching, waiting, and lis- 
tening in the lonely quietude passed drearily; 
and with the passage of every quarter — signalized 
by London’s muffled clocks — my mood became in- 
creasingly morbid. I peopled the silent rooms open- 
ing out of that wherein I sat, with stealthy, murder- 
ous figures; my imagination painted hideous yellow 
faces upon the draperies, twitching yellow hands pro- 
truding from this crevice and that. A score of 
times I started nervously, thinking I heard th'e pad 
of bare feet upon the floor behind me, the suppressed 
breathing of some deathly approach. 

Since nothing occurred to justify these tremors, 
this apprehensive mood passed; I realized -that I was 
growing cramped and stiff, that unconsciously I had 
been sitting with my muscles nervously tensed. The 
window was open a foot or so at the top and the 
blind was drawn; but so accustomed were my eyes 
now to peering through the darkness, that I could 
plainly discern the yellow oblong of the window, and, 
though very vaguely, some of the appointments of 
the room — the Chesterfield against one wall, the 
lamp-shade above my head, the table with the Tulun- 
Nur box upon it. 


S3 


84 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

There was fog in the room, and it was growing ! 
damply chill, for we had extinguished the electric j 
heater some hours before. Very few sounds pene- | 
trated from outside. Twice or perhaps thrice peo- i 
pie passed along the corridor, going to their rooms; j 
but, as I knew, the greater number of the rooms 
along that corridor were unoccupied. \ 

From the Embankment far below me, and from 
the river, faint noises came at long intervals it is 
true; the muffled hooting of motors, and yet fainter 
ringing of bells. Fog signals boomed distantly, and 
train whistles shrieked, remote and unreal. I deter- 
mined to enter my bedroom, and, risking any sound 
which I might make, to lie down upon the bed. 

I rose carefully and carried this plan into execu- | 
tion. I would have given much for a smoke, al- | 
though my throat was parched; and almost any 
drink would have been nectar. But although my 
hopes (or my fears) of an intruder had left me, I 
determined to stick to the rules of the game as laid 
down. Therefore I neither smoked nor drank, but 
carefully extended my weary limbs upon the coverlet^ 
and telling myself that I could guard our strange 
treasure as well from there as from elsewhere . . . 
slipped off into a profound sleep. 

Nothing approaching in acute and sustained hor- 
ror to the moment when next I opened my eyes ex- 
ists in all my memories of those days. 

In the first place I was aroused by the shaking of 


THE VISITANT 


85 

the bed. It was quivering beneath me as though 
an earthquake disturbed the very foundations of the 
building. I sprang upright and into full conscious- 
ness of my lapse. . . . My hands clutching the 
coverlet on either side of me, I sat staring, staring, 
staring ... at that which peered at me over the 
foot of the bed. 

I knew that I had slept at my post; I was con- 
vinced that I was now widely awake; yet I dared 
not admit to myself that what I saw was other than 
a product of my imagination. I dared not admit 
the physical quivering of the bed, for I could not, 
with sanity, believe its cause to be anything human. 
But what I saw, yet could not credit seeing, was 
this : 

A ghostly white face, which seemed to glisten in 
some faint reflected light from the sitting-room be- 
yond, peered over the bedrail; gibbered at me de- 
moniacally. With quivering hands this night-mare 
horror, which had intruded where I believed human 
intrusion to be all but impossible, clutched the bed- 
posts so that the frame of the structure shook and 
faintly rattled. . . . 

My heart leapt wildly in my breast, then seemed 
to suspend its pulsations and to grow icily cold. 
My whole body became chilled horrifically. My 
scalp tingled: I felt that I must either cry out or 
become stark, raving mad I 

For this clammily white face, those staring eyes, 
that wordless gibbering, and the shaking, shaking, 


86 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


shaking of the bed in the clutch of the nameless vis- 
itant — prevailed, refused to disperse like the evil 
dream I had hoped it all to be; manifested itself, 
indubitably, as something tangible — objective. . . . 

Outraged reason deprived me of coherent speech. 
Past the clammy white face I could see the sitting- 
room illuminated by a faint light; I could even see 
the Tulun-Nur box upon the table immediately op- 
posite the door. 

The thing which shook the bed was actual, ex- 
istent — to be counted with ! 

Further and further I drew myself away from it, 
until I crouched close up against the head of the bed. 
Then, as the thing reeled aside, and — merciful 
Heaven ! — made as if to come around and ap- 
proach me yet closer, I uttered a hoarse cry and 
hurled myself out upon the floor and on the side 
remote from that pallid horror which I thought was 
pursuing me. 

I heard a dull thud . . . and the thing disap- 
peared from my view. Yet — and remembering 
the supreme terror of that visitation I am not 
ashamed to confess It — I dared not move from the 
spot upon which I stood, I dared not make to pass 
that which lay between me and the door. 

“ Smith I ” I cried, but my voice was little more 
than a hoarse whisper — “Smith! Weymouth!” 

The words became clearer and louder as I pro- 
ceeded, so that the last — “ Weymouth! ” — was ut- 
tered in a sort of falsetto scream. 


THE VISITANT 


87 

A door burst open upon the other side of the cor- 
ridor. A key was inserted in the lock of the door. 
Into the dimly lighted arch which divided the bed- 
room from the sitting-room, sprang the figure of 
Nayland Smith! 

“Petrie! Petrie!” he called — and I saw him 
standing there looking from left to right. 

Then, ere I could reply, he turned, and his gaze 
fell upon whatever lay upon the floor at the foot of 
the bed. 

“My God!” he whispered — and sprang into 
the room. 

“ Smith! Smith! ” I cried, “what is it? what is 
it?” 

He turned in a flash, as Weymouth entered at his 
heels, saw me, and fell back a step; then looked 
again down at the floor. 

“ God’s mercy! ” he whispered, “ I thought it was 
you — I thought it was you ! ” 

Trembling violently, my mind a feverish chaos, 
I moved to the foot of the bed and looked down at 
what lay there. 

“ Turn up the light! ” snapped Smith. 

Weymouth reached for the switch, and the room 
became illuminated suddenly. 

Prone upon the carpet, hands outstretched and 
nails dug deeply into the pile of the fabric, lay a 
dark-haired man having his head twisted sideways 
so that the face showed a ghastly pallid profile 
against the rich colorings upon which it rested. He 


88 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


wore no coat, but a sort of dark gray shirt and black 
trousers. To add to the incongruity of his attire, 
his feet were clad in drab-colored shoes, rubber- 
soled. 

I stood, one hand raised to my head, looking down 
upon him, and gradually regaining control of my- 
self. Weymouth, perceiving something of my con- 
dition, silently passed his flask to me; and I gladly 
availed myself of this. 

“ How in Heaven’s name did he get in? ” I whis- 
pered. 

“ How, indeed! ” said Weymouth, staring about 
him with wondering eyes. 

Both he and Smith had discarded their disguises; 
and, a bewildered trio, we stood looking down upon 
the man at our feet. Suddenly Smith dropped, to 
his knees and turned him flat upon his back. Com- 
posure was nearly restored to me, and I knelt upon 
the other side of the white-faced creature whose 
presence there seemed so utterly outside the realm 
of possibility, and examined him with a consuming 
and fearful interest; for it was palpable that, if not 
already dead, he was dying rapidly. 

He was a slightly built man, and the first dis- 
covery that I made was a curious one. What I had 
mistaken for dark hair was a wig! The short black 
mustache which he wore was also factitious. 

“ Look at this 1 ” I cried. 

“ I am looking,” snapped Smith. 

He suddenly stood up, and, entering the room be- 


THE VISITANT 


89 


yond, turned on the light there. I saw him staring 
at the Tulun-Nur box, and I knew what had been 
in his mind. But the box, undisturbed, stood upon 
the table as we had left it. I saw Smith tugging 
irritably at the lobe of his ear, and staring from 
the box towards the man beside whom I knelt. 

“ For God’s sake, what does it mean? ” said In- 
spector Weymouth in a voice hushed with wonder. 
“ How did he get in? What did he come for? — 
and what has happened to him? ” 

“ As to what has happened to him,” I replied, 
“ unfortunately I cannot tell you. I only know that 
unless something can be done his end is not far off.” 

“ Shall we lay him on the bed? ” 

I nodded, and together we raised the slight figure 
and placed it upon the bed where so recently I had 
lain. 

As we did so, the man suddenly opened his eyes, 
which were glazed with delirium. He tore himself 
from our grip, sat bolt upright, and holding his 
hands, fingers outstretched, before his face, stared 
at them frenziedly. 

“ The golden pomegranates ! ” he shrieked, and 
a slight froth appeared on his blanched lips. “ The 
golden pomegranates ! ” 

He laughed madly, and fell back inert. 

“He’s dead!” whispered Weymouth; “he’s 
dead!” 

Hard upon his words came a cry from Smith : 

“ Quick ! Petrie I — Weymouth I ” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE ROOM BELOW 

I RAN into the sitting-room, to discover Nayland 
Smith craning out of the now widely opened 
window. The blind had been drawn up, I did not 
know by whom; and, leaning out beside my friend, I 
was in time to perceive some bright object moving 
down the gray stone wall. Almost instantly it dis- 
appeared from sight in the yellow banks below. 
Smith leapt around in a whirl of excitement. 

“ Come on, Petrie ! ’’ he cried, seizing my arm. 
“You remain here, Weymouth; don’t leave these 
rooms whatever happens ! ” 

We ran out into the corridor. For my own part 
I had not the vaguest idea what we were about. 
My mind was not yet fully recovered from the 
frightful shock which it had sustained; and the 
strange words of the dying man — “ the golden pom- 
egranates ” — had increased my mental confusion. 
Smith apparently had not heard them, for he re- 
mained grimly silent, as side by side we raced down 
the marble stairs to the corridor immediately below 
our own. 

Although, amid the hideous turmoil to which I 
had awakened, I had noted nothing of the hour, 
90 


THE ROOM BELOW 


91 


evidently the ni/ght was far advanced. Not a soul 
was to be seen from end to end of the vast corridor 
in which we stood . . . until on the right-hand side 
and about half-way along, a door opened and a 
woman came out hurriedly, carrying a small hand- 
bag. 

She wore a veil, so that her features were but 
vaguely distinguished, but her every movement was 
agitated; and this agitation perceptibly increased 
when, turning, she perceived the two of us bearing 
down upon her. 

Nayland Smith, who had been audibly counting 
the doors along the corridor as we passed them, 
seized the woman’s arm without ceremony, and 
pulled her into the apartment she had been on the 
point of quitting, closing the door behind us as we 
entered. 

“ Smith! ” I began, “ for Heaven’s sake what are 
you about?” 

“ You shall see, Petrie! ” he snapped. 

He released the woman’s arm, and pointing to 
an arm-chair near by — 

“ Be seated,” he said sternly. 

Speechless with amazement, I stood, with my back 
to the door, watching this singular scene. Our cap- 
tive, who wore a smart walking costume and whose 
appearance was indicative of elegance and culture, 
so far had uttered no word of protest, no cry. 

Now, whilst Smith stood rigidly pointing to the 
chair, she seated herself with something very like 


92 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


composure and placed the leather bag upon the floor 
beside her. The room in which I found myself was 
one of a suite almost identical with our own, but 
from what I had gathered in a hasty glance around, 
it bore no signs of recent tenancy. The window was 
widely opened, and upon the floor lay a strange-look- 
ing contrivance apparently made of aluminum. A 
large grip, open, stood beside it, and from this some 
portions of a black coat and other garments pro- 
truded. I 

“ Now, madame,’’ said Nayland Smith, “ will you I 
be good enough to raise your veil? ” 

Silently, unprotestingly, the woman obeyed him, | 
raising her gloved hands and lifting the veil from | 
her face. 

The features revealed were handsome in a hard j 
fashion, but heavily made-up. Our captive was 
younger than I had hitherto supposed; a blonde;; 
her hair artificially reduced to the so-called Titian! 
tint. But, despite her youth, her eyes, with the 
blackened lashes, were full of a world weariness. I 
Now she smiled cynically. I 

“ Are you satisfied,” she said, speaking unemotion- 
ally, “ or,” holding up her wrists, “ would you like, 
to handcuff me ? ” 

Nayland Smith, glancing from the open grip and 
the appliance beside it to the face of the speaker, i 
began clicking his teeth together, whereby I knewi 
him to be perplexed. Then he stared across at! 
me. 


THE ROOM BELOW 


9S 

“ You appear bemused, Petrie,” he said, with 
a certain irritation. “ Is this what mystifies 
you? ” 

Stooping, he picked up the metal contrivance, and 
almost savagely jerked open the top section. It 
was a telescopic ladder, and more ingeniously de- 
signed than anything of the kind I had seen before. 
There was a sort of clamp attached to the base, and 
two sharply pointed hooks at the top. 

“ For reaching windows on an upper floor,” 
snapped my friend, dropping the thing with a clatter 
upon the carpet. “ An American device which 
forms part of the equipment of the modern hotel 
thief! ” 

He seemed to be disappointed — fiercely disap- 
pointed; and I found his attitude inexplicable. He 
turned to the woman — who sat regarding him with 
that fixed cynical smile. 

“ Who are you? ” he demanded; “ and what busi- 
ness have you with the Si-Fan? ” 

The woman’s eyes opened more widely, and the 
smile disappeared from her face. 

“ The Si-Fan 1 ” she repeated slowly. I don’t 
know what you mean. Inspector.” 

“ I am not an Inspector,” snapped Smith, “ and 
you know it well enough. You have one chance — 
your last. To whom were you to deliver the box? 
when and where? ” 

But the blue eyes remained upraised to the grim . 
tanned face with a look of wonder in them, which. 


94 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

if assumed, marked the woman a consummate 
•actress. 

“ Who are you? ” she asked in a low voice, “ and 
what are you talking about? ’’ 

Inactive, I stood by the door watching my friend, 
and his face was a fruitful study in perplexity. He 
seemed upon the point of an angry outburst, then, 
staring intently into the questioning eyes upraised 
to his, he checked the words he would have uttered 
and began to click his teeth together again. 

“ You are some servant of Dr. Fu-Manchu! ” he 
said. 

The girl frowned with a bewilderment which I 
could have sworn was not assumed. Then — 

“ You said I had one chance a moment ago,” she 
replied. “ But if you referred to my answering any 
of your questions, it is no chance at all. We have 
gone under, and I know it. I am not complaining; 
it’s all in the game. There’s a clear enough case 
against us, and I am sorry ” — suddenly, unex- 
pectedly, her eyes became filled with tears, which 
coursed down her cheeks, leaving little wakes of 
blackness from the make-up upon her lashes. Her 
lips trembled, and her voice shook. “ I am sorry 1 
let him do it. He’d never done anything — not any- 
thing big like this — before, and he never would 
have done if he had not met me. . . .” 

The look of perplexity upon Smith’s face was in- 
creasing with every word that the girl uttered. 

“ You don’t seem to know me,” she continued, 


THE ROOM BELOW 


95 


her emotion momentarily growing greater, “ and I 
don’t know you; but they will know me at Bow 
Street. I urged him to do it, when he told me about 
the box to-day at lunch. He said that if it contained 
half as much as the Kuren treasure-chest, we could 
sail for America and be on the straight all the rest 
of our lives. . . .” 

And now something which had hitherto been puz- 
zling me became suddenly evident. I had not re- 
moved the wig worn by the dead man, but I knew 
that he had fair hair, and when in his last moments 
he had opened his eyes, there had been in the con- 
torted face something faintly familiar. 

“Smith!” I cried excitedly, “it is Lewison, 
Meyerstein’s clerk! Don’t you understand? don’t 
you understand? ” 

Smith brought his teeth together with a snap and 
stared me hard in the face. 

“ I do, Petrie. I have been following a false 
scent. I do ! ” 

The girl in the chair was now sobbing convul- 
sively. 

“ He was tempted by the possibility of the box 
containing treasure,” I ran on, “ and his acquaint- 
ance with this — lady — who is evidently no 
stranger to felonious operations, led him to make the 
attempt with her assistance. But ” — I found my- 
self confronted by a new problem — “ what caused 
his death? ” 

“His . . . death! 


96 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

As a wild, hysterical shriek the words smote upon 
my ears. I turned, to see the girl rise, tottering, 
from her seat. She began groping in front of her, 
blindly, as though a darkness had descended. 

“ You did not say he was dead? ” she whispered, 
“not dead I — not . . 

The words were lost in a wild peal of laughter. 
Clutching at her throat she swayed and would have 
fallen had I not caught her in my arms. As I laid 
her insensible upon the settee I met Smith’s glance. 

“ I think I know that, too, Petrie,” he said 
gravely. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE GOLDEN POMEGRANATES 

‘‘TT THAT was it that he cried out? ” demanded 
VV Nayland Smith abruptly. “ I was in the 
sitting-room and it sounded to me like ‘ pomegran- 
ates ’ ! ” 

We were bending over Lewison; for now, the wig 
removed, Lewison it proved unmistakably to be, 
despite the puffy and pallid face. 

“ He said ‘ the golden pomegranates,’ ” I replied, 
and laughed harshly. “ They were words of delir- 
ium and cannot possibly have any bearing upon the 
manner of his death.” 

I disagree.” 

He strode out into the sitting-room. 

Weymouth was below, supervising the removal 
of the unhappy prisoner, and together Smith and I 
stood looking down at the brass box. Suddenly — 

“ I propose to attempt to open it,” said my 
friend. 

His words came as a complete surprise. 

“ For what reason? — and why have you so sud- 
denly changed your mind ? ” 

“ For a reason which I hope will presently become 
97 


98 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

evident,” he said; “ and as to my change of mind, 
unless I am greatly mistaken, the wily old Chinaman 
from whom I wrested this treasure was infinitely 
more clever than I gave him credit for being! ” 
Through the open window came faintly to my 
ears the chiming of Big Ben. The hour was a quar- 
ter to two. London’s pulse was dimmed now, and 
around about us the great city slept as soundly as it 
ever sleeps. Other sounds came vaguely through 
the fog, and beside Nayland Smith I sat and watched 
him at work upon the Tulun-Nur box. 

Every knob of the intricate design he pushed, 
pulled and twisted; but without result. The night 
wore on, and just before three o’clock Inspector 
Weymouth knocked upon the door. I admitted 
him, and side by side the two of us stood watching 
Smith patiently pursuing his task. 

All conversation had ceased, when, just as the 
muted booming of London’s clocks reached my ears 
again and Weymouth pulled out his watch, there 
came a faint click . . . and I saw that Smith had 
raised the lid of the coffer 1 

Weymouth and I sprang forward with one ac- 
cord, and over Smith’s shoulders peered into the 
interior. There was a second lid of some dull, black 
wood, apparently of great age, and fastened to it so 
as to form knobs or handles was an exquisitely 
carved pair of golden pomegranates! 

“ They are to raise the wooden lid, Mr. Smith! ” 


THE GOLDEN POMEGRANATES 99 

cried Weymouth eagerly. “Look! there is a hol- 
low in each to accommodate the fingers 1 ” 

“ Aren’t you going to open it?” I demanded ex- 
citedly — “ aren’t you going to open it? ” 

“ Might I invite you to accompany me into the 
bedroom yonder for a moment?” he replied in a 
tone of studied reserve. “ You also, Weymouth? ” 
Smith leading, we entered the room where the 
dead man lay stretched upon the bed. 

“ Note the appearance of his fingers,” directed 
Nayland Smith. 

I examined the peculiarity to which Smith had 
drawn my attention. The dead man’s fingers were 
swollen extraordinarily, the index finger of either 
hand especially being oddly discolored, as though 
bruised from the nail upward. I looked again at 
the ghastly face, then, repressing a shudder, for the 
sight was one not good to look upon, I turned to 
Smith, who was watching me expectantly with his 
keen, steely eyes. 

From his pocket he took out a knife containing a 
number of implements, amongst them a hook-like 
contrivance. 

“ Have you a button-hook, Petrie,” he asked, “ or 
anything of that nature ? ” 

“ How will this do? ” said the Inspector, and he 
produced a pair of handcuffs. “ They were not 
wanted,” he added significantly. 

“ Better still,” declared Smith. 


loo THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


Reclosing his knife, he took the handcuffs from 
Weymouth, and, returning to the sitting-room, 
opened them widely and inserted two steel points 
in the hollows of the golden pomegranates. He 
pulled. There was a faint sound of moving mechan- 
ism and the wooden lid lifted, revealing the interior 
of the coffer. It contained three long bars of lead 
— and nothing else! 

Supporting the lid with the handcuffs — 

“ Just pull the light over here, Petrie,” said Smith. 

I did as he directed. 

“ Look into these two cavities where one is ex- 
pected to thrust one’s fingers 1 ” 

Weymouth and I craned forward so that our 
heads came into contact. 

“ My God 1 ” whispered the Inspector, “ we know 
now what killed him 1 ” 

Visible, in either little cavity against the edge of 
the steel handcuff, was the point of a needle, which 
evidently worked in an exquisitely made socket 
through which the action of raising the lid caused 
it to protrude. Underneath the lid, midway be- 
tween the two pomegranates, as I saw by slowly 
moving the lamp, was a little receptacle of metal 
communicating with the base of the hollow needles. 

The action of lifting the lid not only protruded 
the points but also operated the hypodermic syringe 1 

“Note,” snapped Smith — but his voice was 
slightly hoarse. 

He removed the points of the bracelets. The box 


THE GOLDEN POMEGRANATES loi 


immediately reclosed with no other sound than a 
faint click. 

“ God forgive him,” said Smith, glancing toward 
the other room, “ for he died in my stead! — and 
Dr. Fu-Manchu scores an undeserved failure 1 ” 


CHAPTER XV 


ZARMI REAPPEARS 


ini ” I cried. • 

The door opened and a page-boy entered. 

“ A cable for Dr. Petrie.” 

I started up from my chair. A thousand possi- 
bilities — some of a sort to bring dread to my heart 
— instantly occurred to me. I tore open the en- 
velope and, as one does, glanced first at the name of 
the sender. 

It was signed “ Karamaneh! ” 

‘‘Smith!” I said hoarsely, glancing over the 
message, “ Karamaneh is on her way to England. 
She arrives by the Nicobar to-morrow 1 ” 

“Eh?” cried Nayland Smith, in turn leaping to 
his feet. “ She had no right to come alone, un- 
less ” 

The boy, open-mouthed, was listening to our con- 
versation, and I hastily thrust a coin into his hand 
and dismissed him. As the door closed — 

“ Unless what. Smith? ” I said, looking my friend 
squarely in the eyes. 

“ Unless,” he rapped, “ she has learnt something, 
or — is flying from some one I ” 

My mind set in a whirl of hopes and fears, long- 
ings and dreads. 


102 


ZARMI REAPPEARS 


103 


“ What do you mean, Smith? ” I asked. “ This 
is the place of danger, as we know to our cost; she 
was safe in Egypt.” 

Nayland Smith commenced one of his restless 
perambulations, glancing at me from time to time 
and frequently tugging at the lobe of his ear. 

W as she safe in Egypt?” he rapped. “We 
are dealing, remember, with the Si-Fan, which, if I 
am not mistaken, is a sort of Eleusinian Mystery 
holding some kind of dominion over the Eastern 
mind, and boasting initiates throughout the Orient. 
It is almost certain that there is an Egyptian branch, 
or group — call it what you will — of the damnable 
organization.” 

“ But Dr. Fu-Manchu ” 

“ Dr. Fu-Manchu — for he lives, Petrie ! my own 
eyes bear witness to the fact — Dr. Fu-Manchu is a 
sort of delegate from the headquarters. His pro- 
digious genius will readily enable him to keep in 
touch with every branch of the movement. East and 
West.” 

He paused to knock out his pipe into an ashtray 
and to watch me for some moments in silence. 

“ He may have instructed his Cairo agents,” he 
added significantly. 

“ God grant she get to England in safety,” I whis- 
pered. “ Smith !, can we make no move to round up 
the devils who defy us, here in the very heart of 
civilized England? Listen. You will not have for- 
gotten the wild-cat Eurasian Zarmi? ” 


104 the hand of fu-manchu 

Smith nodded. “ I recall the lady perfectly ! ” 
he snapped. 

“ Unless my imagination has been playing me 
tricks, I have seen her twice within the last few 
days — once in the neighborhood of this hotel and 
once in a cab in Piccadilly.” 

“ You mentioned the matter at the time,” said 
Smith shortly; “but although I made inquiries, as 
you remember, nothing came of them.” 

“ Nevertheless, I don’t think I was mistaken. I 
feel in my very bones that the Yellow hand of Fu- 
Manchu is about to stretch out again. If only we 
could apprehend Zarmi.” 

Nayland Smith lighted his pipe with care. 

“ If only we could, Petrie! ” he said; “ but, damn 
it ! ” — he dashed his left fist into the palm of his 
right hand — “we are doomed to remain inactive. 
We can only await the arrival of Karamaneh and 
see if she has anything to tell us. I must admit that 
there are certain theories of my own which I haven’t 
yet had an opportunity of testing. Perhaps in the 
near future such an opportunity may arise.” 

How soon that opportunity was to arise neither 
of us suspected then; but Fate is a merry trickster, 
and even as we spoke of these matters events were 
brewing which were to lead us along strange paths. 

With such glad anticipations as my pen cannot 
describe, their gladness not unmixed with fear, I 
retired to rest that night, scarcely expecting to sleep, 
so eager was I for the morrow. The musical voice 


ZARMI REAPPEARS 


105 


of Karamaneh seemed to ring in my ears; I seemed 
to feel the touch of her soft hands and to detect, as 
I drifted into the borderland betwixt reality and 
slumber, that faint, exquisite perfume which from 
the first moment of my meeting with the beautiful 
Eastern girl, had become to me inseparable from 
her personality. 

It seemed that sleep had but just claimed me when 
I was awakened by some one roughly shaking my 
shoulder. I sprang upright, my mind alert to sud- 
den danger. The room looked yellow and dismal, 
illuminated as it was by a cold light of dawn which 
crept through the window and with which competed 
the luminance of the electric lamps. 

Nayland Smith stood at my bedside, partially 
dressed ! 

“Wake up, Petrie!” he cried; “your instincts 
serve you better than my reasoning. Hell’s afoot, 
old man ! Even as you predicted it, perhaps in that 
same hour, the yellow fiends were at work! ” 

“ What, Smith, what ! ” I said, leaping out of 

bed; “ you don’t mean ” 

“ Not that, old man,” he replied, clapping his 
hand upon my shoulder; “ there is no further news 
of her^ but Weymouth is waiting outside. Sir Bald- 
win Frazer has disappeared! ” 

I rubbed my eyes hard and sought to clear my 
mind of the vapors of sleep. 

“ Sir Baldwin Frazer ! ” I said, “ of Half-Moon 
Street? But what ” 


io6 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


“God knows what” snapped Smith; “but our 
old friend Zarmi, or so it would appear, bore him off 
last night, and he has completely vanished, leaving 
practically no trace behind.” 

Only a few sleeping servants were about as we 
descended the marble stairs to the lobby of the hotel 
where Weymouth was awaiting us. 

“ I have a cab outside from the Yard,” he said. 
“ I came straight here to fetch you before going on 
to Half-Moon Street.” 

“Quite right!” snapped Smith; “but you are 
sure the cab is from the Yard? I have had painful 
experience of strange cabs recently ! ” 

“ You can trust this one,” said Weymouth, smil- 
ing slightly. “ It has carried me to the scene of 
many a crime.” 

“ Hem! ” said Smith — “ a dubious recommenda- 
tion.” 

We entered the waiting vehicle and soon were 
passing through the nearly deserted streets of Lon- 
don. Only those workers whose toils began with 
the dawn were afoot at that early hour, and in the 
misty gray light the streets had an unfamiliar look 
and wore an aspect of sadness in ill accord with the 
sentiments which now were stirring within me. For 
whatever might be the fate of the famous mental 
specialist, whatever the mystery before us — even 
though Dr. Fu-Manchu himself, malignantly active, 
threatened our safety — Karamaneh would be with 


ZARMI REAPPEARS 


107 

me again that day — Karamaneh, my beautiful wife 
to be ! 

So selfishly occupied was I with these reflections 
that I paid little heed to the words of Weymouth, 
who v/as acquainting Nayland Smith with the facts 
bearing upon the mysterious disappearance of Sir 
Baldwin Frazer. Indeed, I was almost entirely ig- 
norant upon the subject when the cab pulled up be- 
fore the surgeon’s house in Half-Moon Street. 

Here, where all else spoke of a city yet sleeping or 
but newly awakened, was wild unrest and excite- 
ment. Several servants were hovering about the 
hall eager to glean any scrap of information that 
mfight be obtainable; wide-eyed and curious, if not 
a little fearful. In the somber dining-room with its 
heavy oak furniture and gleaming silver. Sir Bald- 
win’s secretary awaited us. He was a young man, 
fair-haired, clean-shaven and alert; but a real and 
ever-present anxiety could be read in his eyes. 

‘‘ I am sorry,” he began, “ to have been the cause 
of disturbing you at so early an hour, particularly 
since this mysterious affair may prove to have no 
connection with the matters which I understand are 
at present engaging your attention.” 

Nayland Smith raised his hand deprecatingly. 

‘‘ We are prepared, Mr. Logan,” he replied, “ to 
travel to the uttermost ends of the earth at all times, 
if by doing so we can obtain even a meager clue to 
the enigma which baffles us.” 

I should not have disturbed Mr. Smith,” said 


io8 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


Weymouth, “ if I had not been pretty sure that there 
was Chinese devilry at work here: nor should I 
have told you as much as I have, Mr. Logan,” he 
added, a humorous twinkle creeping into his blue 
eyes, “ if I had thought you could not be of use to 
us in unraveling our case ! ” 

“ I quite understand that,” said Logan, “ and now, 
since you have voted for the story first and refresh- 
ments afterward, let me tell you what little I know 
of the matter.” 

“ Be as brief as you can,” snapped Nayland Smith, 
starting up from the chair in which he had been 
seated and beginning restlessly to pace the floor be- 
fore the open fireplace — “ as brief as is consistent 
with clarity. We have learnt in the past that an 
hour or less sometimes means the difference be- 
tween ” 

He paused, glancing at Sir Baldwin’s secretary. 

“ Between life and death,” he added. 

Mr. Logan started perceptibly. 

“ You alarm me, Mr. Smith,” he declared; “ for I 
can conceive of no earthly manner in which this 
mysterious Eastern organization of which Inspector 
Weymouth speaks, could profit by the death of Sir 
Baldwin.” 

Nayland Smith suddenly turned and stared grimly 
at the speaker. 

“ I call it death,” he said harshly, “ to be carried 
off to the interior of China, to be made a mere slave. 


ZARMI REAPPEARS 


109 


having no will but the will of the great and evil man 
I who already — already, mark you ! — has actually 
I accomplished such things.” 

“ But Sir Baldwin ” 

“ Sir Baldwin Frazer,” snapped Smith, “ is the 
undisputed head of his particular branch of surgery. 
Dr. Fu-Manchu may have what he deems useful em- 
ployment for such skill as his. But,” glancing at 
the clock, “we are wasting time. Your story, Mr. 
Logan.” 

“ It was about half-past twelve last night,” began 
* the secretary, closing his eyes as if he were concen- 
I trating his mind upon certain past events, “ when 
j a woman came here and inquired for Sir Baldwin. 

I The butler informed her that Sir Baldwin was enter- 
' taining friends and that he could receive no profes- 
: sional visitors until the morning. She was so in- 
j sistent, however, absolutely declining to go away, 

I that I was sent for — I have rooms in the house — 
and I came down to interview her in the library.” 

“ Be very accurate, Mr. Logan,” interrupted 
Smith, “ in your description of this visitor.” 

“ I shall do my best,” pursued Logan, closing his 
eyes again in concentrated thought. “ She wore 
evening dress, of a fantastic kind, markedly Oriental 
in character, and had large gold rings in her ears. 
A green embroidered shawl, with raised figures of 
white birds as a design, took the place of a cloak. 
It was certainly of Eastern workmanship, possibly 


no THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


Arab; and she wore it about her shoulders with one 
corner thrown over her head — again, something 
like a humous. She was extremely dark, had jet- 
black, frizzy hair and very remarkable eyes, the 
finest of their type I have ever seen. She possessed 
beauty of a sort, of course, but without being exactly 
vulgar, it was what I may term ostentatious ; and 
as I entered the library I found myself at a loss to 
define her exact place in society — you understand 
what I mean? ” 

We all nodded comprehendingly and awaited with 
intense interest the resumption of the story. Mr. 
Logan had vividly described the Eurasian Zarmi, 
the creature of Dr. Fu-Manchu. 

“ When the woman addressed me,’’ he continued, 

my surmise that she was some kind of half-caste, 
probably a Eurasian, was confirmed by her broken 
English. I shall not be misunderstood ” — a slight 
embarrassment became perceptible in his manner — ■ 
“ if I say that the visitor quite openly tried to be- 
witch me; and since we are all human, you will 
perhaps condone my conduct when I add that she 
succeeded, in a measure, inasmuch as I consented 
to speak to Sir Baldwin, a-lthough he was actually 
playing bridge at the time. 

“ Either my eloquence, or, to put it bluntly, the 
extraordinary fee which the woman offered, resulted 
in Sir Baldwin’s agreeing to abandon his friends and 
accompany the visitor in a cab which was waiting 
to see the patient.” 


ZARMI REAPPEARS 


III 


“ And who was the patient? " rapped Smith. 

“ According to the woman’s account, the patient 
was her mother, who had met with a street accident 
a week before. She gave the name of the consultant 
who had been called in, and who, she stated, had 
advised the opinion of Sir Baldwin. She repre- 
sented that the matter was urgent, and that it might 
be necessary to perform an operation immediately in 
order to save the patient’s life.” 

“ But surely,” I interrupted, in surprise, “ Sir 
Baldwin did not take his instruments? ” 

He took his case with him — yes,” replied Lo- 
gan; “ for he in turn yielded to the appeals of the 
visitor. The very last words that I heard him speak 
as he left the house were to assure her that no such 
operation could be undertaken at such short notice 
in that way.” 

Logan paused, looking around at us a little 
wearily. 

“ And what aroused your suspicions? ” said Smith. 

“ My suspicions were aroused at the very moment 
of Sir Baldwin’s departure, for as I came out onto 
the steps with him I noticed a singular thing.” 

And that was? ” snapped Smith. 

“ Directly Sir Baldwin had entered the cab the 
woman got out,” replied Logan with some excite- 
ment in his manner, “ and reclosing the door took 
her seat beside the driver of the vehicle — which im- 
mediately moved off.” 

Nayland Smith glanced significantly at me. 


1 12 ,THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


‘‘ The cab trick again, Petrie ! ” he said; “ scarcely, 
a doubt of it.” Then, to Logan: “Anything 
else?” 

“This,” replied the secretary: “I thought, al- 
though I could not be sure, that the face of Sir; 
Baldwin peered out of the window for a moment asi 
the cab moved away from the house, and that there 
was a strange expression upon it, almost a look of 
horror. But of course as there was no light in the 
cab and the only illumination was that from the 
open door, I could not be sure.” 

“ And now tell Mr. Smith,” said Weymouth, 

“ how you got confirmation of your fears.” | 

“ I felt very uneasy in my mind,” continued Lo- j 
gan, “ for the whole thing was so irregular, and I | 
could not rid my memory of the idea of Sir Bald- 
win’s face looking out from the cab window. There- 
fore I rang up the consultant whose name our visitor 
had mentioned.” 

“ Yes? ” cried Smith eagerly. 

“ He knew nothing whatever of the matter,” said 
Logan, “ and had no such case upon his books ! 
That of course put me in a dreadful state of mind, 
but I was naturally anxious to avoid making a fool 
of myself and therefore I waited for some hours 
before mentioning my suspicions to any one. But 
when the morning came and no message was received 
I determined to communicate with Scotland Yard. 
The rest of the mystery it is for you, gentlemen, to 
unravel.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


I TRACK ZARMI 

‘‘TT THAT does it mean? ” said Nayland Smith 
VV wearily, looking at me through the haze 
of tobacco smoke which lay between us. “ A well- 
known man like Sir Baldwin Frazer is decoyed away 
’ — undoubtedly by the woman Zarmi ; and up to the 
present moment not so much as a trace of him can 
be found. It is mortifying to think that with all the 
facilities of New Scotland Yard at our disposal we 
cannot trace that damnable cab! We cannot find 
the headquarters of the group — we cannot move! 
To sit here inactive whilst Sir Baldwin Frazer — 
God knows for what purpose 1 — is perhaps being 
smuggled out of the country, is maddening — mad- 
dening ! ’’ Then, glancing quickly across to me : 
“ To think . . 

I rose from my chair, head averted. A tragedy 
had befallen me which completely overshadowed all 
other affairs, great and small. Indeed, its poign- 
ancy was not yet come to its most acute stage; the 
news was too recent for that. It had numbed my 
mind; dulled the pulsing life within me. 

The s.s. Nicobar, of the Oriental Navigation Line, 
had arrived at Tilbury at the scheduled time. My 


1 14 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

heart leaping joyously in my bosom, I had hurried 
on board to meet Karamaneh. . . . 

I have sustained some cruel blows in my life ; but 
I can state with candor that this which now befell 
me was by far the greatest and the most crushing 
I had ever been called upon to bear; a calamity 
dwarfing all others which I could imagine. 

She had left the ship at Southampton — and had 
vanished completely. 

‘‘ Poor old Petrie,” said Smith, and clapped his 
hands upon my shoulders in his impulsive, sympa- 
thetic way. “Don’t give up hope! We are not 
going to be beaten! ” 

“ Smith,” I interrupted bitterly, “ what chance 
have we? what chance have we? We know no 
more than a child unborn where these people have 
their hiding-place, and we haven’t a shadow of a 
clue to guide us to it.” 

His hands resting upon my shoulders and his gray 
eyes looking straightly into mine. 

“ I can only repeat, old man,” said my friend, 
“ don’t abandon hope. I must leave you for an hour 
or so, and, when I return, possibly I may have some 
news.” 

For long enough after Smith’s departure I sat 
there, companioned only by wretched reflections; 
then, further inaction seemed impossible; to move, 
to be up and doing, to be seeking, questing, became 
an Imperative necessity. Muffled in a heavy travel- 
ing coat I went out into the wet and dismal night. 


I TRACK ZARMI 


115 

having no other plan in mind than that of walking on 
through the rain-swept streets, on and always on, in 
an attempt, vain enough, to escape from the deadly 
thoughts that pursued me. 

Without having the slightest Idea that I had done 
so, I must have walked along the Strand, crossed 
Trafalgar Square, proceeded up the Haymarket to 
Piccadilly Circus, and commenced to trudge along 
Regent Street; for I found myself staring vaguely 
at the Oriental rugs displayed in Messrs. Liberty’s 
window, when an Incident aroused me from the 
apathy of sorrow In which I was sunken. 

“ Tell the cab feller to drive to the north side of 
Wandsworth Common,” said a woman’s voice — a 
voice speaking in broken English, a voice which 
electrified me, had me alert and watchful in a 
moment. 

I turned, as the speaker, entering a taxi-cab that 
was drawn up by the pavement, gave these direc- 
tions to the door-porter, who with open umbrella was 
in attendance. Just one glimpse I had of her as she 
stepped into the cab, but it was sufficient. Indeed, 
the voice had been sufficient; but that sinuous shape 
and that lithe swaying movement of the hips re- 
moved all doubt. 

It was Zarmi ! 

As the cab moved off I ran out Into the middle of 
the road, where there was a rank, and sprang into 
the first taxi waiting there. 

“ Follow the cab ahead! ” I cried to the man, my 


ii6 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


voice quivering with excitement “Look! you can 
see the number ! There can be no mistake. But | 
don’t lose it for your life! It’s worth a sovereign ^ 
to you ! ” 

The man, warming to my mood, cranked his 
engine rapidly and sprang to the wheel. I was wild | 
with excitement now, and fearful lest the cab ahead 1 
should have disappeared; but fortune seemingly 
was with me for once, and I was not twenty yards 
behind when Zarmi’s cab turned the first corner ; 
ahead. Through the gloomy street, which ap- 
peared to be populated solely by streaming um- 
brellas, we went. I could scarcely keep my seat; 
every nerve in my body seemed to be dancing — 
twitching. Eternally I was peering ahead; and 
when, leaving the well-lighted West End thorough- 
fares, we came to the comparatively gloomy streets 
of the suburbs, a hundred times I thought we had 
lost the track. But always in the pool of light cast 
by some friendly lamp, I would see the quarry again 
speeding on before us. 

At a lonely spot bordering the common the vehicle 
which contained Zarmi stopped. I snatched up the 
speaking-tube. 

“ Drive on,” I cried, “ and pull up somewhere 
beyond! Not too far! ” 

The man obeyed, and presently I found myself 
standing in what was now become a steady down- 
pour, looking back at the headlights of the other 
cab. I gave the driver his promised reward. 


I TRACK ZARMI 


117 

“Wait for ten minutes/' I directed; “then if I 
have not returned, you need wait no longer.” 

I strode along the muddy, unpaved path, to the 
spot where the cab, now discharged, was being 
slowly backed away into the road. The figure of 
Zarmi, unmistakable by reason of the lithe carriage, 
was crossing in the direction of a path which seem- 
ingly led across the common. I followed at a dis- 
creet distance. Realizing the tremendous potential- 
ities of this rencontre I seemed to rise to the occa- 
sion; my brain became alert and clear; every 
faculty was at its brightest. And I felt serenely 
confident of my ability to make the most of the 
situation. 

Zarmi went on and on along the lonely path. Not 
another pedestrian was in sight, and the rain walled 
in the pair of us. Where comfort-loving humanity 
sought shelter from the inclement weather, we two 
moved out there in the storm, linked by a common 
enmity. 

I have said that my every faculty was keen, and 
have spoken of my confidence in my own alertness. 
My condition, as a matter of fact, must have been 
otherwise, and this belief in my powers merely 
symptomatic of the fever which consumed me; for, 
as I was to learn, I had failed to take the first ele- 
mentary precaution necessary in such case. I, who 
tracked another, had not counted upon being tracked 
myself! . . . 

A bag or sack, reeking of some sickly perfume, 


ii8 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


was dropped silently, accurately, over my head from 
behind; it was drawn closely about my throat. One 
muffled shriek, strangely compound of fear and ex- 
ecration, I uttered. I was stifling, choking . . . 1 
staggered — and fell. . . . 


CHAPTER XVII 

I MEET DR. FU-MANCHU 


M y next impression was of a splitting head- 
ache, which, as memory remounted its 
throne, brought up a train of recollections. I 
found myself to be seated upon a heavy wooden 
bench set flat against a wall, which was covered with 
a kind of straw matting. My hands were firmly 
tied behind me. In the first agony of that reawak- 
ening I became aware of two things. 

I was in an operating-room, for the most con- 
spicuous item of its furniture was an operating- 
table! Shaded lamps were suspended above it; 
and instruments, antiseptics, dressings, etc., were 
arranged upon a glass-topped table beside it. 
Secondly, I had a companion. 

Seated upon a similar bench on the other side of 
the room, was a heavily built man, his dark hair 
splashed with gray, as were his short, neatly trimmed 
beard and mustache. He, too, was pinioned; and 
he stared across the table with a glare in which a 
sort of stupefied wonderment predominated, but 
which was not free from terror. 

It was Sir Baldwin Frazer! 

“Sir Baldwin!” I muttered, moistening my 
119 


120 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


parched lips with my tongue — “Sir Baldwin! — ^ 
how ” 

“ It is Dr. Petrie, is it not? ” he said, his voice 
husky with emotion. “ Dr. Petrie 1 — my dear sir, 
in mercy tell me — what does this mean? I have 
been kidnaped — drugged ; made the victim of an 
inconceivable outrage at the very door of my own 
house. . . 

I stood up unsteadily. 

“ Sir Baldwin,” I interrupted, “ you ask me what 
it means. It means that we are in the hands of 
Dr. Fu-Manchu I ” 

Sir Baldwin stared at me wildly; his face was 
white and drawn with anxiety. 

“ Dr. Fu-Manchu! ” he said; “ but, my dear sir, 
this name conveys nothing to me — nothing! ” His 
manner momentarily was growing more distrait. 
“ Since my captivity began I have been given the 
use of a singular suite of rooms in this place, and 
received, I must confess, every possible attention. 
I have been waited upon by the she-devil who lured 
me here, but not one word other than a species of 
coarse badinage has she spoken to me. At times I 
have been tempted to believe that the fate which 
frequently befalls the specialist had befallen me. 
You understand? ” 

“ I quite understand,” I replied dully. “ There 
have been times in the past when I, too, have 
doubted my sanity in my dealings with the group 
who now hold us in their power.” 


I MEET DR. FU-MANCHU 


I2I 


“ But,” reiterated the other, his voice rising 
higher and higher, “ what does it mean, my dear 
sir? It is incredible — fantastic ! Even now I find 
it difficult to disabuse my mind of that old, haunting 
idea.” 

“ Disabuse it at once. Sir Baldwin,” I said bit- 
terly. “ The facts are as you see them ; the explana- 
tion, at any rate in your own case, is quite beyond 
me. I was tracked . . .” 

“ Hush! some one is coming! ” 

We both turned and stared at an opening before 
which hung a sort of gaudily embroidered mat, as 
the sound of dragging footsteps, accompanied by a 
heavy tapping, announced the approach of some one. 

The mat was pulled aside by Zarmi. She turned 
her head, flashing around the apartment a glance of 
her black eyes, then held the drapery aside to admit 
the entrance of another. . . . 

Supporting himself by the aid of two heavy walk- 
ing sticks and painfully dragging his gaunt frame 
along. Dr. Fu-Manchu entered! 

I think I have never experienced in my life a sen- 
sation identical to that which now possessed me. 
Although Nayland Smith had declared that Fu- 
Manchu was alive, yet I would have sworn upon 
oath before any jury summonable that he was dead ; 
i for with my own eyes I had seen the bullet enter his 
skull. Now, whilst I crouched against the matting- 
covered wall, teeth tightly clenched and my very 
hair quivering upon my scalp, he dragged himself 


122 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


laboriously across the room, the sticks going tap — 
tap — tap upon the floor, and the tall body, envel- 
oped in a yellow robe, bent grotesquely, gruesomely, 
with every effort which he made. He wore a sur- 
gical bandage about his skull and its presence seemed 
to accentuate the height of the great domelike brow, 
to throw into more evil prominence the wonderful, 
Satanic countenance of the man. His filmed eyes 
turning to right and left, he dragged himself to a j 
wooden chair that stood beside the operating-table 
and sank down upon it, breathing sibilantly, ex- 
haustedly. 

Zarmi dropped the curtain and stood before it. I 
She had discarded the dripping overall which she 
had been wearing when I had followed her across 
the common, and now stood before me with her 
black, frizzy hair unconfined and her beautiful, 
wicked face uplifted in a sort of cynical triumph. 
The big gold rings in her ears glittered strangely in 
the light of the electric lamps. She wore a garment 
which looked like a silken shawl wrapped about her 
in a wildly picturesque fashion, and, her hands upon 
her hips, leant back against the curtain glancing de- 
fiantly from Sir Baldwin to myself. 

Those moments of silence which followed the en- 
trance of the Chinese Doctor live in my memory and 
must live there for ever. Only the labored breath- 
ing of Fu-Manchu disturbed the stillness of thei 
place. Not a sound penetrated to the room, no one 
uttered a word ; then — 


I MEET DR. FU-MANCHU 


123 


“ Sir Baldwin Frazer,” began Fu-Manchu in that 
indescribable voice, alternating between the sibilant 
and the guttural, “ you were promised a certain fee 
for your services by my servant who summoned you. 
It shall be paid and the gift of my personal gratitude 
be added to it.” 

He turned himself with difficulty to address Sir 
Baldwin; and it became apparent to me that he was 
almost completely paralyzed down one side of his 
body. Some little use he could make of his hand 
and arm, for he still clutched the heavy carven stick, 
but the right side of his face was completely immo- 
bile; and rarely had I seen anything more ghastly 
than the effect produced upon that wonderful, 
Satanic countenance. The mouth, from the center 
of the thin lips, opened only to the left, as he spoke ; 
in a word, seen in profile from where I sat, or rather 
crouched, it was the face of a dead man. 

Sir Baldwin Frazer uttered no word, but, crouch- 
ing upon the bench even as I crouched, stared — 
horror written upon every lineament — at Dr. Fu- 
Manchu. The latter continued : — 

“ Your experience. Sir Baldwin, will enable you 
readily to diagnose my symptom''. Owing to the 
passage of a bullet along a portion of the third left 
frontal into the postero-parietal convolution — upon 
which, from its lodgment in the skull, it continues to 
press — hemiplegia of the right side has supervened. 
Aphasia is present also. . . .” 

The effort of speech was ghastly. Beads of per- 


124 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

spiration dewed Fu-Manchu’s brow, and I marveled 
at the iron will of the man, whereby alone he forced 
his half-numbed brain to perform its functions. He 
seemed to select his words elaborately and by this 
monstrous effort of will to compel his partially par- 
alyzed tongue to utter them. Some of the syllables 
were slurred; but nevertheless distinguishable. It 
was a demonstration of sheer Force unlike any I had 
witnessed, and it impressed me unforgettably. 

“ The removal of this injurious particle,” he con- 
tinued, “ would be an operation which I myself 
could undertake to perform successfully upon 
another. It is a matter of some delicacy as you, 
Sir Baldwin, and ” — slowly, horribly, turning the 
half-dead and half-living head towards me — “ you, 
Dr. Petrie, will appreciate. In the event of clumsy 
surgery, death may supervene; failing this, per- 
manent hemiplegia — or ” — the film lifted from the 
green eyes, and for a moment they flickered with 
transient horror — “ idiocy ! Any one of three of 
my pupils whom I might name could perform this 
operation with ease, but their services are not avail- 
able. Only one English surgeon occurred to me in 
this connection, and you. Sir Baldwin ” — again he 
slowly turned his head — “ were he. Dr. Petrie 
will act as anaesthetist, and, your duties completed, 
you shall return to your home richer by the amount 
stipulated. I have suitably prepared myself for the 
operation, and I can assure you of the soundness of 
my heart. I may advise you. Dr. Petrie ” — again 


I MEET DR. FU-MANCHU 125. 

turning to me — “ that my constitution is inured to 
the use of opium. You will make due allowance 
for this. Mr. Li-King-Su, a graduate of Canton, 
will act as dresser.” r 

He turned laboriously to Zarmi. She clapped her 
hands and held the curtain aside. A perfectly im- 
mobile Chinaman, whose age I was unable to guess, 
and who wore a white overall, entered, bowed com- 
posedly to Frazer and myself and began in a matter- 
of-fact way to prepare the dressings. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


QUEEN OF HEARTS 

<‘QIR BALDWIN FRAZER,” said Fu-Manchu, 
interrupting a wild outburst from the former, 
“ your refusal is dictated by insufficient knowledge 
of your surroundings. You find yourself in a place 
strange to you, a place to which no clue can lead 
your friends; in the absolute power of a man — 
myself — who knows no law other than his own 
and that of those associated with him. Virtually, 
Sir Baldwin, you stand in China; and in China we 
know how to exact obedience. You will not refuse, 
for Dr. Petrie will tell you something of my wire^ 
jackets and my jiles. ...” 

I saw Sir Baldwin Frazer blanch. He could not 
know what I knew of the significance of those words 
— “ my wire-jackets, my files ” — but perhaps some- 
thing of my own horror communicated itself to him. 

“ You will not refuse** continued Fu-Manchu 
softly; “ my only fear for you is that the operation 
may prove unsuccessful! In that event not even 
my own great clemency could save you, for by 
virtue of your failure I should be powerless to inter- 
vene.” He paused for some moments, staring 
directly at the surgeon. “ There are those within 
126 


QUEEN OF HEARTS 


127 


sound of my voice,” he added sibilantly, “ who 
would flay you alive in the lamentable event of your 
failure, who would cast your flayed body ” — he 
paused, waving one quivering fist above his head, 
and his voice rose in a sudden frenzied shriek — 
“ to the rats — to the rats ! ” 

Sir Baldwin’s forehead was bathed in perspiration 
now. It was an incredible and a gruesome situation, 
a nightmare become reality. But, whatever my 
own case, I could see that Sir Baldwin Frazer was 
convinced, I could see that his consent would no 
longer be withheld. 

“ You, my dear friend,” said Fu-Manchu, turning 
to me and resuming his studied and painful com- 
posure of manner, “ will also consent. . . .” 

Within my heart of hearts I could not doubt him ; 
I knew that my courage was not of a quality high 
enough to sustain the frightful ordeals summoned 
up before my imagination by those words — “ my 
files, my wire-jackets! ” 

“ In the event, however, of any little obstinacy,” 
he added, ‘‘ another will plead with you.” 

A chill like that of death descended upon me — 
as, for the second time, Zarmi clapped her hands, 
pulled the curtain aside . . . and Karamaneh was 
thrust into the room I 

^ :jc >!c * * * * 

There comes a blank in my recollections. Long 
after Karamaneh had been plucked out again by 


128 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


the two muscular brown hands which clutched her 
shoulders from the darkness beyond the doorway, 
I seemed to see her standing there, in her close- 
fitting traveling dress. Her hair was unbound, 
dishevelled, her lovely face pale to the lips — and 
her eyes, her glorious, terror-bright eyes, looked 
fully into mine. . . . 

Not a word did she utter, and I was stricken 
dumb as one who has plucked the Flower of Silence. 
Only those wondrous eyes seemed to look into my 
soul, searing, consuming me. 

Fu-Manchu had been speaking for some time ere 
my brain began again to record his words. 

“ and this magnanimity,” came dully to my 

ears, ‘‘ extends to you. Dr. Petrie, because of my 
esteem. I have little cause to love Karamaneh ” — 
his voice quivered furiously — “ but she can yet be 
of use to me, and I would not harm a hair of her 
beautiful head — except in the event of your obsti- 
nacy. Shall we then determine your immediate 
future upon the turn of a card, as the gamester 
within me, within every one of my race, suggests? ” 

“ Yes, yes ! ” came hoarsely. 

I fought mentally to restore myself to a full 
knowledge of what was happening, and I realized 
that the last words had come from the lips of Sir 
Baldwin Frazer. 

“ Dr. Petrie,” Frazer said, still in the same hoarse 
and unnatural voice, “ what else can we do ? At 
least take the chance of recovering your freedom. 


QUEEN OF HEARTS 129; 

for how otherwise can you hope to serve — your 
friend. . . 

“ God knows! ’’ I said dully; “ do as you wish 
— and cared not to what I had agreed. ' ] 

Plunging his hand beneath his white overall, the 
Chinaman who had been referred to as Li-King-Su 
calmly produced a pack of cards, unemotionally 
shuffled them and extended the pack to me. 

I shook my head grimly, for my hands were tied. 
Picking up a lancet from the table, the Chinaman 
cut the cords which bound me, and again extended 
the pack. I took a card and laid it on my knee 
without even glancing at it. Fu-Manchu, with his 
left hand, in turn selected a card, looked at it and 
then turned its face towards me. 

“ It would seem. Dr. Petrie,” he said calmly, 
“ that you are fated to remain here as my guest. 
You will have the felicity of residing beneath the 
same roof with Karamaneh.” 

The card was the Knave of Diamonds. 

Conscious of a sudden excitement, I snatched up 
the card from my knee. It was the Queen of 
Hearts! For a moment I tasted exultation, then I 
tossed it upon the floor. I was not fool enough to 
suppose that the Chinese Doctor would pay his debt 
of honor and release me. 

“ Your star above mine,” said Fu-Manchu, his 
calm unruffled. “ I place myself in your hands. Sir 
Baldwin.” 1 

Assisted by his unemotional compatriot, Fu- 


130 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Manchu discarded the yellow robe, revealing him- 
self in a white singlet in all his gaunt ugliness, and 
extended his frame upon the operating-table. 

Li-King-Su ignited the large lamp over the head 
of the table, and from his case took out a trephine. 

J|S :(£ * * * 

“ Other points for your guidance from my own 
considerable store of experience ” — Fu-Manchu was 
speaking — “ are written out clearly in the notebook 
which lies upon the table. . . .’’ 

His voice, now, was toneless, emotionless, as 
though his part in the critical operation about to be 
performed were that of a spectator. No trace of 
nervousness, of fear, could I discern; his pulse was 
practically normal. 

How I shuddered as I touched his yellow skin! 
how my very soul rose in revolt I . . . 

* >► * * * Hs * 

“There is the bullet! — quick! . . . Steady, 
Petrie ! ” 

Sir Baldwin Frazer, keen, cool, deft, was meta- 
morphosed, was the enthusiastic, brilliant surgeon 
whom I knew and revered, and another than the 
nerveless captive who, but a few minutes ago, had 
stared, panic-stricken, at Dr. Fu-Manchu. 

Although I had met him once or twice profession- 
ally, I had never hitherto seen him operate; and his 
method was little short of miraculous. It was stim- 


QUEEN OF HEARTS 


131 

ulating, inspiring. With unerring touch he whittled 
madness, death, from the very throne of reason, of 
life. 

Now was the crucial moment of his task . . . and, 
with its coming, every light in the room suddenly 
failed — went out! 

“ My God I ” whispered Frazer, in the darkness, 
“ quick ! quick ! lights ! a match ! — a candle ! — 
something, anything ! ” 

There came a faint click, and a beam of white 
light was directed, steadily, upon the patient’s skull. 
Li-King-Su — unmoved — held an electric torch in 
his hand! 

Frazer and I set to work, in a fierce battle to 
fend off Death, who already outstretched his pinions 
over the insensible man — to fend off Death from 
the arch-murderer, the enemy of the white races, who 
lay there at our mercy ! . . . 

* ^ * 

“ It seems you want a pick-me-up ! ” said Zarmi. 

Sir Baldwin Frazer collapsed into the cane arm- 
chair. Only a matting curtain separated us from 
the room wherein he had successfully performed per- 
haps the most wonderful operation of his career. 

“ I could not have lasted out another thirty sec- 
onds, Petrie 1 ” he whispered. “The events which 
led up to it had exhausted my nerves and I had no 
reserve to call upon. If that last . . .” 

He broke off, the sentence uncompleted, and 


132 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

eagerly seized the tumbler containing brandy and 
soda, which the beautiful, wicked-eyed Eurasian 
passed to him. She turned, and prepared a drink 
for me, with the insolent insouciance which had never 
deserted her. 

I emptied the tumbler at a draught. 

Even as I set the glass down I realized, too late, 
that it was the first drink I had ever permitted to 
pass my lips within an abode of Dr. Fu-Manchu. . . . 

I started to my feet. 

“Frazer!’’ I muttered — “we’ve been drugged! 

we . . .” 

“ You sit down,” came Zarmi’s husky voice, and 
I felt her hands upon my breast, pushing me back 
into my seat. “ You very tired, indeed . . . you go 
to sleep. . . 

“ Petrie ! Dr. Petrie ! ” 

The words broke in through the curtain of un- 
consciousness. I strove to arouse myself. I felt 
cold and wet. I opened my eyes — and the world 
seemed to be swimming dizzily about me. Then a 
hand grasped my arm, roughly. 

“ Brace up ! Brace up, Petrie — and thank God 
you are alive! . . .” 

I was sitting beside Sir Baldwin Frazer on a 
wooden bench, under a leafless tree, from the ghostly 
limbs whereof rain trickled down upon me ! In the 
gray light, which, I thought, must be the light of 


QUEEN OF HEARTS 


133 


dawn, I discerned other trees about us and an open 
expanse, tree-dotted, stretching into the misty gray- 
ness. 

“Where are we?” I muttered — “where . . 

“ Unless I am greatly mistaken,” replied my be- 
draggled companion, “ and I don’t think I am, for I 
attended a consultation in this neighborhood less 
than a week ago, we are somewhere on the west side 
of Wandsworth Common! ” 

He ceased speaking; then uttered a suppressed 
cry. There came a jangling of coins, and dimly I 
saw him to be staring at a canvas bag of money which 
he held. 

“ Merciful heavens ! ” he said, “ am I mad — or 
did I really perform that operation? And can this 
be my fee? . . .” 

I laughed loudly, wildly, plunging my wet, cold 
hands into the pockets of my rain-soaked overcoat. 
In one of them, my fingers came in contact with a 
piece of cardboard. It had an unfamiliar feel, and 
I pulled it out, peering at it in the dim light. 

“ Well, I’m damned! ” muttered Frazer — “ then 
I’m not mad, after all ! ” 

It was the Queen of Hearts I 


CHAPTER XIX 


“ ZAGAZIG ” 

F ully two weeks elapsed ere Nayland Smith’s 
arduous labors at last met with a slight reward. 
For a moment, the curtain of mystery surrounding 
the Si-Fan was lifted, and we had a glimpse of that 
organization’s elaborate mechanism. I cannot bet- 
ter commence my relation of the episodes associated 
with the Zagazig cryptogram than from the moment 
when I found myself bending over a prostrate form 
extended upon the table in the Inspector’s room at 
the River Police Depot. It was that of a man who 
looked like a Lascar, who wore an ill-fitting slop-shop 
suit of blue, soaked and stained and clinging hide- 
ously to his body. His dank black hair was streaked 
upon his low brow; and his face, although it was not- 
able for a sort of evil leer, had assumed in death 
another and more dreadful expression. 

Asphyxiation had accounted for his end beyond 
doubt, but there were marks about his throat of 
clutching fingers, his tongue protruded, and the look 
in the dead eyes was appalling. 

“ He was amongst the piles upholding the old 
wharf at the back of the Joy-Shop?” said Smith 
tersely, turning to the police officer in charge. 

134 


ZAGAZIG 


‘‘ Exactly !. was the reply. “ The in-coming tide 
had jammed him right up under a cross-beam.” 

“ What time was that? ” 

“ Well, at high tide last night. Hewson, return- 
ing with the ten o’clock boat, noticed the moonlight 
glittering upon the knife.” 

The knife to which the Inspector referred pos- 
sessed a long curved blade of a kind with which I 
had become terribly familiar in the past. The dead 
man still clutched the hilt of the weapon in his right 
hand, and It now lay with the blade resting crosswise 
upon his breast. I stared in a fascinated way at this 
mysterious and tragic flotsam of old Thames. 

Glancing up, I found Nayland Smith’s gray eyes 
watching me. 

“ You see the mark, Petrie? ” he snapped. 

I nodded. The dead man upon the table was a 
Burmese dacoltl 

“ What do you make of it? ” I said slowly. 

“ At the moment,” replied Smith, “ I scarcely 
know what to make of it. You are agreed with the 
divisional surgeon that the man — unquestionably a 
dacoit — died, not from drowning, but from stran- 
gulation. From evidence we have heard, it would 
appear that the encounter which resulted in the body 
being hurled In the river, actually took place upon 
the wharf-end beneath which he was found. And 
we know that a place formerly used by the Si-Fan 
group — In other words, by Dr. Fu-Manchu — ad- 
joins the wharf. I am tempted to believe that this ” 


136 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

— he nodded towards the ghastly and sinister object 
upon tfie table — “ was a servant of the Chinese Doc- 
tor. In other words, we see before us one whom 
Fu-Manchu has rebuked for some shortcoming.” 

I shuddered coldly. Familiar as I should have 
been with the methods of the dread Chinaman, with 
his callous disregard of human suffering, of human 
life, of human law, I could not reconcile my ideas — 
the ideas of a modern, ordinary middle-class prac- 
titioner — with these Far Eastern devilries which 
were taking place in London. 

Even now I sometimes found myself doubting the 
reality of the whole thing; found myself reviewing 
the history of the Eastern doctor and of the horrible 
group of murderers surrounding him, with an in- 
credulity almost unbelievable in one who had been 
actually in contact not only with the servants of the 
Chinaman, but with the sinister Fu-Manchu himself. 
Then, to restore me to grips with reality, would come 
the thought of Karamaneh, of the beautiful girl 
whose love had brought me seemingly endless sor- 
row and whose love for me had brought her once 
again into the power of that mysterious, implacable 
being. 

This thought was enough. With its coming, 
fantasy vanished; and I knew that the dead dacoit, 
his great curved knife yet clutched in his hand, the 
Yellow menace hanging over London, over England, 
over the civilized world, the absence, the heart- 


‘‘ZAGAZIG” 137 

breaking absence, of Karamaneh — all were real, all 
were true, all were part of my life. 

Nayland Smith was standing staring vaguely be- 
fore him and tugging at the lobe of his left ear. 

“Come along!” he snapped suddenly. “We 
have no more to learn here : the clue to the mystery 
must be sought elsewhere.” 

There was that in his manner whereby I knew that 
his thoughts were far away, as we filed out from the 
River Police Depot to the cab which awaited us. 
Pulling from his overcoat pocket a copy of a daily 
paper — 

“ Have you seen this, Weymouth? ” he demanded. 

With a long, nervous index finger he indicated a 
paragraph on the front page which appeared under 
the heading of “ Personal.” Weymouth bent 
frowningly over the paper, holding it close to his 
eyes, for this was a gloomy morning and the light 
in the cab was poor. 

“ Such things don’t enter into my sphere, Mr. 
Smdth,” he replied, “ but no doubt the proper de- 
partment at the Yard have seen it.” 

“ I know they have seen it 1 ” snapped Smith; “ but 
they have also been unable to read it! ” 

Weymouth looked up in surprise. 

“ Indeed,” he said. “ You are interested in this, 
then?” 

“Very! Have you any suggestion to offer re- 
specting it? ” 


138 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Moving from my seat I, also, bent over the paper 
and read, in growing astonishment, the following : — 

ZAGAZIG-Z,-a-g-^ ;-z :-I-g,z-a,-g-a,z 
I ;-g :-zagA-z ;i- \-Z-a \-g^zi 

G ;-z-,ag- \a'-Z‘l ;-g '.-z—ag '-a- :Z-,ig : 
z,a-^,-a:z,f-:g- 

“ This is utterly incomprehensible I It can be 
nothing but some foolish practical joke ! It consists 
merely of the word ‘ Zagazig ’ repeated six or seven 
times — which can have no possible significance I ” 

“ Can’t it! ” snapped Smith. 

“ Well,” I said, “ what has Zagazig to do with 
Fu-Manchu, or to do with us? ” 

“ Zagazig, my dear Petrie, is a very unsavory 
Arab town in Lower Egypt, as you know! ” 

He returned the paper to the pocket of his over- 
coat, and, noting my bewildered glance, burst into 
one of his sudden laughs, 

“ You think I am talking nonsense,” he said; “ but, 
as a matter of fact, that message in the paper has 
been puzzling me since it appeared — yesterday 
morning — and at last I think I see light.” 

He pulled out his pipe and began rapidly to load 
it. 

“ I have been growing careless of late, Petrie,” he 
continued; and no hint of merriment remained in his 
voice. His gaunt face was drawn grimly, and his 
eyes glittered like steel. “ In future I must avoid 
going out alone at night as much as possible.” 


ZAGAZIG 


Inspector Weymouth was staring at Smith in a 
puzzled way; and certainly I was every whit as 
mystified as he. 

“ I am disposed to believe,” said my friend, in his» 
rapid, incisive way, “ that the dacoit met his end 
at the hands of a tall man, possibly dark and almost 
certainly clean-shaven. If this missing personage 
wears, on chilly nights, a long, tweed traveling coat 
and affects soft gray hats of the Stetson pattern, I 
shall not be surprised.” 

Weymouth stared at me in frank bewilderment. 

‘‘ By the way. Inspector,” added Smith, a sudden 
gleam of inspiration entering his keen eyes — “ did 
I not see that the s.s. Andaman arrived recently? ” 

“The Oriental Navigation Company’s boat?” 
inquired Weymouth in a hopeless tone. “ Yes. 
She docked yesterday evening.” 

“ If Jack Forsyth is still chief officer, I shall look 
him up,” declared Smith. “ You recall his brother, 
Petrie? ” 

“Naturally; since he was done to death in my 
presence,” I replied; for the words awoke memories 
of one of Dr. Fu-Manchu’s most ghastly crimes, al- 
ways associated in my mind with the cry of a night- 
hawk. 

“ The divine afflatus should never be neglected,” 
announced Nayland Smith didactically, “ wild though 
its promptings may seem.” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE NOTE ON THE DOOR 

I SAW little of Nayland Smith for the remainder 
of that day. Presumably he was following 
those “ promptings ’’ to which he had referred, 
though I was unable to conjecture whither they were 
leading him. Then, towards dusk he arrived in a 
perfect whirl, figuratively sweeping me off my feet. 

“ Get your coat on, Petrie! ” he cried; “ you for- 
get that we have a most urgent appointment! ” 
Beyond doubt I had forgotten that we had any 
appointment whatever that evening, and some sur- 
prise must have shown upon my face, for — 

“ Really you are becoming very forgetful! ” my 
friend continued. “ You know we can no longer 
trust the ’phone. I have to leave certain instruc- 
tions for Weymouth at the rendezvous! ” 

There was a hidden significance in his manner, 
and, my memory harking back to an adventure which 
we had shared in the past, I suddenly glimpsed the 
depths of my own stupidity. 

He suspected the presence of an eavesdropper! 
Yes! incredible though it might appear, we were 
spied upon in the New Louvre; agents of the Si- 
Fan, of Dr. Fu-Manchu, were actually within the 
walls of the great hotel !, 


140 


THE NOTE ON THE DOOR 141 

We hurried out into the corridor, and descended 
by the lift to the lobby. M. Samarkan, long famous 
as maitre d* hotel of one of Cairo’s fashionable khans ^ 
and now principal of the New Louvre, greeted us 
with true Greek courtesy. He trusted that we 
should be present at some charitable function or 
other to be held at the hotel on the following eve- 
ning. 

“ If possible, M. Samarkan — if possible,” said 
Smith. “ We have many demands upon our time.” 
Then, abruptly, to me : “ Come, Petrie, we will 

walk as far as Charing Cross and take a cab from 
the rank there.” 

“ The hall-porter can call you a cab,” said M. 
Samarkan, solicitous for the comfort of his guests. 

“Thanks,” snapped Smith; “we prefer to walk 
a little way.” 

Passing along the Strand, he took my arm, and 
speaking close to my ear — 

“ That place is alive with spies, Petrie,” he said; 
“ or if there are only a few of them they are remark- 
ably efficient ! ” 

Not another word could I get from him, although 
I was eager enough to talk; since one dearer to me 
than all else in the world was in the hands of the 
damnable organization we knew as the Si-Fan; un- 
til, arrived at Charing Cross, he walked out to the 
cab rank, and — 

“ Jump in ! ” he snapped. 

He opened the door of the first cab on the rank. 


142 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

‘‘ Drive to J Street, Kennington,” he directed 

the man. 

In something of a mental stupor I entered and 
found myself seated beside Smith. The cab made 
off towards Trafalgar Square, then swung around 
into Whitehall. 

“ Look behind! ” cried Smith, intense excitement 
expressed in his voice — “ look behind! ” 

I turned and peered through the little square win- 
dow. 

The cab which had stood second upon the rank 
was closely following us ! 

‘‘We are tracked!” snapped my companion. 
“ If further evidence were necessary of the fact that 
our every movement is watched, here it is ! ” 

I turned to him, momentarily at a loss for words; 
then — 

“Was this the object of our journey?” I said. 
“ Your reference to a ‘ rendezvous ’ was presumably 
addressed to a hypothetical spy? ” 

“ Partly,” he replied. “ I have a plan, as you will 
see in a moment.” 

I looked again from the window in the rear of the 
cab. We were now passing between the House of 
Lords and the back of Westminster Abbey . . . and 
fifty yards behind us the pursuing cab was crossing 
from Whitehall ! A great excitement grew up 
within me, and a great curiosity respecting the iden- 
tity of our pursuer. 


THE NOTE ON THE DOOR 143 

“ What is the place for which we are bound, 
Smith? ” I said rapidly. 

“ It is a house which I chanced to notice a few 
days ago, and I marked it as useful for such a pur- 
pose as our present one. You will see what I mean 
when we arrive.” 

On we went, following the course of the river, 
then turned over Vauxhall Bridge and on down 
Vauxhall Bridge Road into a very dreary neighbor- 
hood where gasometers formed the notable feature 
■of the landscape. 

“ That’s the Oval just beyond,” said Smith sud- 
denly, “ and — here we are.” 

In a narrow cul de sac which apparently com- 
municated with the boundary of the famous cricket 
ground, the cabman pulled up. Smith jumped out 
and paid the fare. 

“ Pull back to that court with the iron posts,” he 
directed the man, “ and wait there for me.” Then: 

Come on, Petrie ! ” he snapped. 

Side by side we entered the wooden gate of a small 
detached house, or more properly cottage, and 
passed up the tiled path towards a sort of side en- 
trance which apparently gave access to the tiny gar- 
den. At this moment I became aware of two things; 
the first, that the house was an empty one, and the 
second, that some one — some one who had quitted 
the second cab (which I had heard pull up at no 
great distance behind us) was approaching stealthily 


144 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

along the dark and uninviting street, walking upon: 
the opposite pavement and taking advantage of the 
shadow of a high wooden fence which skirted it for 
some distance. 

Smith pushed the gate open, and I found myself 
in a narrow passageway in almost complete darkness. 
But my friend walked confidently forward, turned 
the angle of the building and entered the miniature 
wilderness which once had been a garden. 

“ In here, Petrie! ” he whispered. 

He seized me by the arm, pushed open a door and 
thrust me forward down two stone steps into abso- 
lute darkness. 

“Walk straight ahead! ” he directed, still in the 
same intense whisper, “ and you will find a locked 
door having a broken panel. Watch through the 
opening for any one who may enter the room beyond, 
but see that your presence is not detected. What- 
ever I say or do, don’t stir until I actually rejoin 
you.” 

He stepped back across the floor and was gone. 
One glimpse I had of him, silhouetted against the 
faint light of the open door, then the door was gently 
closed, and I was left alone in the empty house. 

Smith’s methods frequently surprised me, but al- 
ways in the past I had found that they were dictated 
by sound reasons. I had no doubt that an emer- 
gency unknown to me dictated his present course, but 
it was with my mind in a wildly confused condition, 
that I groped for and found the door with the broken 


THE NOTE ON THE DOOR 145 

panel and that I stood there in the complete darkness 
of the deserted house listening. 

I can well appreciate how the blind develop an 
unusually keen sense of hearing; for there, in the 
blackness, which (at first) was entirely unrelieved 
by any speck of light, I became aware of the fact, by 
dint of tense listening, that Smith was retiring by 
means of some gateway at the upper end of the little 
garden, and I became aware of the fact that a lane 
or court, with which this gateway communicated, 
gave access to the main road. 

Faintly, I heard our discharged cab backing out 
from the cul de sac; then, from some nearer place, 
came Smith’s voice speaking loudly. 

‘‘Come along, Petrie!” he cried; “there is no 
occasion for us to wait. Weymouth will see the note 
pinned on the door.” 

I started — and was about to stumble back across 
the room, when, as my mind began to work more 
clearly, I realized that the words had been spoken 
as a ruse — a favorite device of Nayland Smith’s. 

Rigidly I stood there, and continued to listen. 

“All right, cabman! ” came more distantly now; 
“ back to the New Louvre — jump in, Petrie ! ” 

The cab went rattling away ... as a faint light 
became perceptible in the room beyond the broken 
panel. 

Hitherto I had been able to detect the presence of 
this panel only by my sense of touch and by means of 
a faint draught which blew through it; now it sud- 


146 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

denly became clearly perceptible. I found myself 
looking into what was evidently the principal room 
of the house — a dreary apartment with tatters of 
paper hanging from the walls and litter of all sorts 
lying about upon the floor and in the rusty fireplace. 

Some one had partly raised the front window and 
opened the shutters. A patch of moonlight shone 
down upon the floor immediately below my hiding- 
place and furthermore enabled me vaguely to discern 
the disorder of the room. 

A bulky figure showed silhouetted against the 
dirty panes. It was that of a man who, leaning upon 
the window sill, was peering intently in. Silently he 
had approached, and silently had raised the sash and 
opened the shutters. 

For thirty seconds or more he stood so, moving 
his head from right to left . . . and I watched him 
through the broken panel, almost holding my breath 
with suspense. Then, fully raising the window, the 
man stepped into the room, and, first reclosing the 
shutters, suddenly flashed the light of an electric 
lamp all about the place. I was enabled to discern 
him more clearly, this mysterious spy who had 
tracked us from the moment that we had left the 
hotel. 

He was a man of portly build, wearing a heavy 
fur-lined overcoat and having a soft felt hat, the 
brim turned down so as to shade the upper part of 
his face. Moreover, he wore his fur collar turned 
up, which served further to disguise him, since it con- 


THE NOTE ON THE DOOR 


147 


•cealed the greater part of his chin. But the eyes 
which now were searching every corner of the room, 
the alert, dark eyes, were strangely familiar. The 
black mustache, the clear-cut, aquiline nose, con- 
firmed the impression. 

Our follower was M. Samarkan, manager of the 
New Louvre. 

I suppressed a gasp of astonishment. Small won- 
der that our plans had leaked out. This was a mo- 
mentous discovery indeed. 

And as I watched the portly Greek who was not 
only one of the most celebrated maitres d^hotel in 
Europe, but also a creature of Dr. Fu-Manchu, he 
cast the light of his electric lamp upon a note attached 
by means of a drawing-pin to the inside of the room 
door. I immediately divined that my friend must 
have pinned the note in its place earlier in the day; 
even at that distance I recognized Smith’s neat, 
illegible writing. 

Samarkan quickly scanned the message scribbled 
upon the white page; then, exhibiting an agility un- 
common in a man of his bulk, he threw open the 
shutters again, having first replaced his lamp in his 
pocket, climbed out into the little front garden, re- 
closed the window, and disappeared! 

A moment I stood, lost to my surroundings, 
plunged in a sea of wonderment concerning the 
damnable organization which, its tentacles extending 
I knew not whither, since new and unexpected limbs 
were ever coming to light, sought no less a goal than 


148 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU I 

I 

Yellow dominion of the world! I reflected how one I 
man — Nayland Smith — alone stood between this ] 
powerful group and the realization of their projects j 
. . . when I was aroused by a hand grasping my arm 
in the darkness! 

I uttered a short cry, of which I was instantly 
ashamed, for Nayland Smith’s voice came: — 

“ I startled you, eh, Petrie? ” 

“ Smith,” I said, “ how long have you been stand- 
ing there?” 

“ I only returned in time to see our Fenimore 
Cooper friend retreating through the window,” he 
replied; “but no doubt you had a good look at 
him?” 

“ I had! ” I answered eagerly. “ It was Samar- 
kan! ” 

“ I thought so ! I have suspected as much for a 
long time.” 

“ Was this the object of our visit here? ” 

“ It was one of the objects,” admitted Nayland 
Smith evasively. 

From some place not far distant came the sound 
of a restarted engine. 

“ The other,” he added, “ was this: to enable M. 
Samarkan to read the note which I had pinned upon 
the door ! ” 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE SECOND MESSAGE 

T TERE you are, Petrie,” said Nayland Smith 

X Jl — and he tossed across the table the folded 
copy of a morning paper. “ This may assist you in 
your study of the first Zagazig message.” 

I set down my cup and turned my attention to 
the “ Personal ” column on the front page of the 
journal. A paragraph appeared therein conceived 
as follows : — 

ZAGAZIG-Z,-a— g— ^ ;-z :-I \-g ;z— a,g 

A~,2 ;f- :G,-z \~a ;^-A,z-i ;-g-z- 

I Stared across at my friend in extreme bewilder- 
ment. 

‘‘ But, Smith ! ” I cried, “ these messages are ut- 
terly meaningless! ” 

“ Not at all,” he rapped back. “ Scotland Yard 
thought they were meaningless at first, and I must 
admit that they suggested nothing to me for a long 
time; but the dead dacoit was the clue to the first, 
Petrie, and the note pinned upon the door of the 
house near the Oval is the clue to the second.” 

149 


150 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Stupidly I continued to stare at him until he broke 
into a grim smile. 

“Surely you understand?” he said. “You re- 
member where the dead Burman was found? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ You know the street along which, ordinarily, 
one would approach the wharf? ” 

“Three Colt Street?” 

“ Three Colt Street; exactly. Well, on the night 
that the Burman met his end I had an appointment 
in Three Colt Street with Weymouth. The appoint- 
ment was made by ’phone, from the New Louvre! 
My cab broke down and I never arrived. I dis- 
covered later that Weymouth had received a tele- 
gram purporting to come from me, putting off the 
engagement.” 

“ I am aware of all this ! ” 

Nayland Smith burst into a loud laugh. 

“But still you are fogged!” he cried. “Then 
I’m hanged if I’ll pilot you any farther! You have 
all the facts before you. There lies the first Zagazig 
message ; here is the second ; and you know the con- 
text of the note pinned upon the door? It read, if 
you remember, ‘ Remove patrol from Joy-Shop 
neighborhood. Have a theory. Wish to visit 
place alone on Monday night after one o’clock.’ ” 

“ Smith,” I said dully, “ I have a heavy stake upon 
this murderous game.” 

His manner changed instantly; the tanned face 
grew grim and hard, but the steely eyes softened 


THE SECOND MESSAGE 


151 

strangely. He bent over me, clapping his hands 
upon my shoulders. 

“ I know it, old man,” he replied; “ and because 
it may serve to keep your mind busy during hours 
when otherwise it would be engaged with profitless 
sorrows, I invite you to puzzle out this business for 
yourself. You have nothing else to do until late to- 
night, and you can work undisturbed, here, at any 
rate! ” 

His words referred to the fact that, without sur- 
rendering our suite at the New Louvre Hotel, we 
had gone upon a visit, of indefinite duration, to a 
mythical friend; and now were quartered in fur- 
nished chambers adjoining Fleet Street. 

We had remained at the New Louvre long enough 
to secure confirmation of our belief that a creature 
of Fu-Manchu spied upon us there; and now we only 
awaited the termination of the night’s affair to take 
such steps as Smith might consider politic in regard 
to the sardonic Greek who presided over London’s 
newest and most palatial hotel. 

Smith setting out for New Scotland Yard in order 
to make certain final arrangements in connection 
with the business of the night, I began closely to 
study the mysterious Zagazig messages, determined 
not to be beaten, and remembering the words of Ed- 
gar Allan Poe — the strange genius to whom we are 
indebted for the first workable system of deciphering 
cryptograms : “ It may well be doubted whether 

human ingenuity can construct an enigma of the kind 


152 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

which human ingenuity may not, by proper applica- 
tion, resolve.” 

The first conclusion to which I was borne was this : 
that the letters comprising the word “ Zagazig ” 
were designed merely to confuse the reader, and 
might be neglected; since, occurring as they did in 
regular sequence, they could possess no significance. 
I became quite excited upon making the discovery 
that the punctuation marks varied in almost every 
case ! 

I immediately assumed that these constituted the 
cipher; and, seeking for my key-letter, e (that which 
most frequently occurs in the English language), I 
found the sign of a full-stop to appear more fre- 
quently than any other in the first message, namely, 
ten times, although it only occurred thrice in the 
second. Nevertheless, I was hopeful . . . until I 
discovered that in two cases it appeared three times 
in succession! 

There is no word in English, nor, so far as I am 
aware, in any language, where this occurs, either in 
regard to e or any other letter ! 

That unfortunate discovery seemed so wholly to 
destroy the very theory upon which I relied, that I 
almost abandoned my investigation there and then. 
Indeed, I doubt if I ever should have proceeded 
were it not that by a piece of pure guesswork I 
blundered on to a clue. 

I observed that certain letters, at irregularly oc- 
curring intervals, were set in capitals, and I divided 


THE SECOND MESSAGE 


153 


up the message into corresponding sections, in the 
hope that the capitals might indicate the commence- 
ments of words. This accomplished, I set out upon 
a series of guesses, basing these upon Smith’s assur- 
ance that the death of the dacoit afforded a clue to 
the first message and the note which he (Smith) had 
pinned upon the door a clue to the second. 

Such being my system — if I can honor my random 
attempts with the title — I take little credit to my- 
self for the fortunate result. In short, I determined 
(although e twice occurred where r should have 
been ! ) that the first message from the thirteenth let- 
ter, onwards to the twenty-seventh {id est: /;- 
g :-zag*A-z ;i- \-Z^-a ;-^az-f ;-) read : — 


Three Colt Street,^* 

Endeavoring, now, to eliminate the e where r 
should appear, I made another discovery. The 
presence of a letter in italics altered the value of the 
sign which followed it ! 

From that point onward the task became child’s- 
play, and I should merely render this account tedious 
if I entered into further details. Both messages 
commenced with the name “ Smith ” as I early per- 
ceived, and half an hour of close study gave me the 
complete sentences, thus : — 

1. Smith passing Three Colt Street twelve-thirty 

Wednesday. 

2. Smith going Joy-Shop after one Monday. 


154 the hand of fu-manchu 

The word “ Zagazig ” was completed, always, and 
did not necessarily terminate with the last letter oc- 
curring in the cryptographic message. A subse- 
quent inspection of this curious code has enabled 
Nayland Smith, by a process of simple deduction, 
to compile the entire alphabet employed by Dr. Fu- 
Manchu’s agent, Samarkan, in communicating with 
his awful superior. With a little patience, any one ; 
of my readers may achieve the same result (and I 
should be pleased to hear from those who succeed !) . 

This, then, was the outcome of my labors; and 
although it enlightened me to some extent, I realized 
that 1 still had much to learn. 

The dacoit, apparently, had met his death at the 
very hour when Nayland Smith should have been 
passing along Three Colt Street — a thoroughfare 
with an unsavory reputation. Who had killed him ? 

To-night, Samarkan advised the Chinese doctor. 
Smith would again be in the same dangerous neigh- 
borhood. A strange thrill of excitement swept 
through me. I glanced at my watch. Yes I It was 
time for me to repair, secretly, to my post. For I, 
too, had business on the borders of Chinatown to- 
night. 


1 


( 

1 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE SECRET OF THE WHARF 

I SAT in the evil-smelling little room with its low, 
blackened ceiling, and strove to avoid making 
the slightest noise; but the crazy boards creaked be- 
neath me with every movement. The moon hung 
low in an almost cloudless sky; for, following the 
spell of damp and foggy weather, a fall in tempera- 
ture had taken place, and there was a frosty snap in 
the air to-night. 

Through the open window the moonlight poured 
in and spilled its pure luminance upon the filthy floor; 
but I kept religiously within the shadows, so posted, 
however, that I could command an uninterrupted 
view of the street from the point where it crossed the 
creek to that where it terminated at the gates of the 
deserted wharf. 

Above and below me the crazy building formerly 
known as the Joy-Shop and once the nightly resort of 
the Asiatic riff-raff from the docks — was silent, save 
for the squealing and scuffling of the rats. The mel- 
ancholy lapping of the water frequently reached my 
ears, and a more or less continuous din from the 
wharves and workshops upon the further bank of the 
Thames; but in the narrow, dingy streets immedi- 
155 


156 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

ately surrounding the house, quietude reigned and 
no solitary footstep disturbed it. 

Once, looking down in the direction of the bridge, 

I gave a great start, for a black patch of shadow 
moved swiftly across the path and merged into the 
other shadows bordering a high wall. My heart 
leapt momentarily, then, in another instant, the ex- 
planation of the mystery became apparent — in the 
presence of a gaunt and prowling cat. Bestowing 
a suspicious glance upward in my direction, the an- 
imal slunk away toward the path bordering the cut- 
ting. 

By a devious route amid ghostly gasometers I had 
crept to my post in the early dusk, before the moon 
was risen, and already I was heartily weary of my 
passive part in the affair of the night. I had never 
before appreciated the multitudinous sounds, all of 
them weird and many of them horrible, which are 
within the compass of those great black rats who find 
their way to England with cargoes from Russia and 
elsewhere. From the rafters above my head, from 
the wall recesses about me, from the floor beneath 
my feet, proceeded a continuous and nerve-shatter- 
ing concert, an unholy symphony which seemingly ac- 
companied the eternal dance of the rats. 

Sometimes a faint splash from below would tell of I 
one of the revelers taking the water, but save for i 
the more distant throbbing of riverside industry, and 
rarer note of shipping, the mad discords of this rat 
saturnalia alone claimed the ear. 


THE SECRET OF THE WHARF 157 

The hour was nigh now, when matters should be- 
gin to develop. I followed the chimes from the 
clock of some church nearby — I have never learnt 
its name; and was conscious of a thrill of excite- 
ment when they warned me that the hour was actu- 
ally arrived. . . . 

A strange figure appeared noiselessly, from I knew 
not where, and stood fully within view upon the 
bridge crossing the cutting, peering to right and left, 
in an attitude of listening. It was the figure of a 
bedraggled old woman, gray-haired, and carrying a 
large bundle tied up in what appeared to be a red 
shawl. Of her face I could see little, since it was 
shaded by the brim of her black bonnet, but she 
rested hSt bundle upon the low wall of the bridge, 
and, to my intense surprise, sat down beside 
it! 

She evidently intended to remain there. 

I drew back further into the darkness; for the 
presence of this singular old woman at such a place, 
and at that hour, could not well be accidental. I 
was convinced that the first actor in the drama had 
already taken the stage. Whether I was mistaken 
or not must shortly appear. 

Crisp footsteps sounded upon the roadway; dis- 
tantly, and from my left. Nearer they approached 
and nearer. I saw the old woman, in the shadow of 
the wall, glance once rapidly in the direction of the 
approaching pedestrian. For some occult reason, 
the chorus of the rats was stilled. Only that firm 


158 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

and regular tread broke the intimate silence of the 
dreary spot. 

Now the pedestrian came within my range of sight. 
It was Nayland Smith! 

He wore a long tweed overcoat with which I was 
familiar, and a soft felt hat, the brim pulled down 
all around in a fashion characteristic of him, and 
probably acquired during the years spent beneath the 
merciless sun of Burma. He carried a heavy walk- 
ing-cane which I knew to be a formidable weapon 
that he could wield to good effect. But, despite the 
stillness about me, a stillness which had reigned un- 
interruptedly (save for the danse macabre of the 
rats) since the coming of dusk, some voice within, 
ignoring these physical evidences of solitude, spoke 
urgently of lurking assassins ; of murderous Easterns 
armed with those curved knives which sometimes 
flashed before my eyes in dreams; of a deathly men- 
ace which hid in the shadows about me, in the many 
shadows cloaking the holes and corners of the ram- 
shackle buildings, draping arches, crannies and 
portals to which the moonlight could not penetrate. 

He was abreast of the Joy-Shop now, and in sight 
of the ominous old witch huddled upon the bridge. 
He pulled up suddenly and stood looking at her. 
Coincident with his doing so, she began to moan and 
sway her body to right and left as if in pain; then — 

“ Kind gentleman,” she whined in a sing-song 
voice, “ thank God you came this way to help a poor 
old woman.” 


THE SECRET OF THE WHARF 159 

“What is the matter?” said Smith tersely, ap- 
proaching her. 

I clenched my fists. I could have cried out; I 
was indeed hard put to it to refrain from crying out 
— from warning him. But his injunctions had been 
explicit, and I restrained myself by a great effort, 
preserving silence and crouching there at the win- 
dow, but with every muscle tensed and a desire for 
action strong upon me. 

“ I tripped up on a rough stone, sir,” whined the 
old creature, “ and here I’ve been sitting waiting for 
a policeman or some one to help me, for more than 
an hour, I have.” 

Smith stood looking down at her, his arms be- 
hind him, and in one gloved hand swinging the 
cane. 

“ Where do you live, then? ” he asked. 

“ Not a hundred steps from here, kind gentle- 
man,” she replied in the monotonous voice; “but 
I can’t move my left foot. It’s only just through the 
gates yonder.” 

“ What! ” snapped Smith, “ on the wharf? ” 

“ They let me have a room in the old building 
until it’s let,” she explained. “ Be helping a poor 
old woman, and God bless you.” 

“ Come along, then I ” 

Stooping, Smith placed his arm around her shoul- 
ders, and assisted her to her feet. She groaned as 
if in great pain, but gripped her red bundle, and, 
leaning heavily upon the supporting arm, hobbled 


i6o THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


dlf across the bridge in the direction of the wharf 
gates at the end of the lane. 

Now at last a little action became possible, and 
having seen my friend push open one of the gates 
and assist the old woman to enter, I crept rapidly 
across the crazy floor, found the doorway, and, with 
little noise, for I wore rubber-soled shoes, stole down 
the stairs into what had formerly been the reception- 
room of the Joy-Shop, the malodorous sanctum of 
the old Chinaman, John Ki. 

Utter darkness prevailed there, but momentarily 
flicking the light of a pocket-lamp upon the floor be- 
fore me, I discovered the further steps that were to 
be negotiated, and descended into the square yard 
which gave access to the path skirting the creek. 

The moonlight drew a sharp line of shadow along 
the wall of the house above me, but the yard itself 
was a well of darkness. I stumbled under the rot- 
ting brick archway, and stepped gingerly upon the 
muddy path that I must follow. One hand pressed 
to the damp wall, I worked my way cautiously along, 
for a false step had precipitated me into the foul 
water of the creek. In this fashion and still en- 
veloped by dense shadows, I reached the angle of 
the building. Then — at risk of being perceived, 
for the wharf and the river both were bathed in 
moonlight — I peered along to the left. . . . 

Out onto the paved pathway communicating with 
the wharf came Smith, shepherding his tottering 
charge. I was too far away to hear any conversa- 


THE SECRET OF THE WHARF i6i 


tion that might take place between the two, but, un- 
less Smith gave the pre-arranged signal, I must 
approach no closer. Thus, as one sees a drama upon 
the screen, I saw what now occurred — occurred 
with dramatic, lightning swiftness. 

Releasing Smith’s arm, the old woman suddenly 
stepped back ... at the instant that another figure, 
a repellent figure which approached, stooping, apish, 
with a sort of loping gait, crossed from some spot 
invisible to me, and sprang like a wild animal upon 
Smith’s back! 

It was a Chinaman, wearing a short loose garment 
of the smock pattern, and having his head bare, so 
that I could see his pigtail coiled upon his yellow 
crown. That he carried a cord, I perceived in the 
instant of his spring, and that he had whipped it 
about Smith’s throat with unerring dexterity was 
evidenced by the one, short, strangled cry that came 
from my friend’s lips. 

Then Smith was down, prone upon the crazy 
planking, with the ape-like figure of the Chinaman 
perched between his shoulders — bending forward 
— the wicked yellow fingers at work, tightening — 
tightening — tightening the strangling-cord I 

Uttering a loud cry of horror, I went racing along 
the gangway which projected actually over the mov- 
ing Thames waters, and gained the wharf. But, 
swift as I had been, another had been swifter I 

A tall figure (despite the brilliant moon, I doubted 
the evidence of my sight), wearing a tweed overcoat 


1 62 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


and a soft felt hat with the brim turned down, 
sprang up, from nowhere as it seemed, swooped upon 
the horrible figure squatting, simianesque, between 
Smith’s shoulder-blades, and grasped him by the 
neck. 

I pulled up shortly, one foot set upon the wharf. 
The new-comer was the double of Nayland Smith! 

Seemingly exerting no effort whatever, he lifted 
the strangler in that remorseless grasp, so that the 
Chinaman’s hands, after one quick convulsive up- 
ward movement, hung limply beside him like the 
paws of a rat in the grip of a terrier. 

“ You damned murderous swine 1 ” I heard in a 
repressed, savage undertone. “ The knife failed, so 
now the cord has an innings! Go after your pal! ” 

Releasing one hand from the neck of the limp 
figure, the speaker grasped the Chinaman by his 
loose, smock-like garment, swung him back, once — 
a mighty swing — and hurled him far out into the 
river as one might hurl a sack of rubbish ! 


CHAPTER XXIII 


ARREST OF SAMARKAN 
S the high gods willed it,” explained Nayland 



XjL Smith, tenderly massaging his throat, “ Mr. 
Forsyth, having just left the docks, chanced to pass 
along Three Colt Street on Wednesday night at ex- 
actly the hour that I was expected! The resem- 
blance between us is rather marked and the coin- 
cidence of dress completed the illusion. That devil- 
ish Eurasian woman, Zarmi, who has escaped us 
again — of course you recognized her? — made a 
very natural mistake. Mr. Forsyth, however, made 
no mistake ! ” 

I glanced at the chief officer of the Andaman^ who 
sat in an armchair in our new chambers, contentedly 
smoking a black cheroot. 

“ Heaven has blessed me with a pair of useful 
hands 1 ” said the seaman, grimly, extending his 
horny palms. “ Fve an old score against those yel- 
low swine; poor George and I were twins.” 

He referred to his brother who had been foully 
done to death by one of the creatures of Dr. Fu- 
Manchu. 

‘‘ It beats me how Mr. Smith got on the track! ” 
he added. 

“Pure inspiration!” murmured Nayland Smith, 


1 64 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

glancing aside from the siphon wherewith he now 
was busy. “ The divine afflatus — and the same 
whereby Petrie solved the Zagazig cryptogram I ” 

“ But/’ concluded Forsyth, “ I am indebted to you 
for an opportunity of meeting the Chinese strangler, 
and sending him to join the Burmese knife expert! ” 

Such, then, were the episodes that led to the arrest 
of M. Samarkan, and my duty as narrator of these 
strange matters now bears me on to the morning 
when Nayland Smith was hastily summoned to the 
prison into which the villainous Greek had been cast. 

We were shown immediately into the Governor’s 
room and were invited by that much disturbed of- 
ficial to be seated. The news which he had to impart 
was sufficiently startling. 

Samarkan was dead. 

“ I have Warder Morrison’s statement here,” said 
Colonel Warrington, “ if you will be good enough to 
read it ” 

Nayland Smith rose abruptly, and began to pace 
up and down the little office. Through the open 
window I had a glimpse of a stooping figure in con- 
vict garb, engaged in liming the flower-beds of the 
prison Governor’s garden. 

“ I should like to see this Warder Morrison per- 
sonally,” snapped my friend. 

“ Very good,” replied the Governor, pressing a 
bell-push placed close beside his table. 

A man entered, to stand rigidly at attention just 
within the doorway. 


ARREST OF SAMARKAN 165 

“ Send Morrison here,” ordered Colonel Warring- 
ton. 

The man saluted and withdrew. As the door was 
reclosed, the Colonel sat drumming his fingers upon 
the table, Nayland Smith walked restlessly about tug- 
ging at the lobe of his ear, and I absently watched 
the convict gardener pursuing his toils. Shortly, 
sounded a rap at the door, and — 

‘‘ Come in,” cried Colonel Warrington. 

A man wearing warder’s uniform appeared, sa- 
luted the Governor, and stood glancing uneasily from 
the Colonel to Smith. The latter had now ceased 
his perambulations, and, one elbow resting upon the 
mantelpiece, was staring at. Morrison — his pene- 
trating gray eyes as hard as steel. Colonel War- 
rington twisted his chair around, fixing his monocle 
more closely in its place. He had the wiry white 
mustache and fiery red face of the old-style Anglo- 
Indian officer. 

“ Morrison,” he said, “ Mr. Commissioner Nay- 
land Smith has some questions to put to you.” 

The man’s uneasiness palpably was growing by 
leaps and bounds. He was a tall and intelligent- 
looking fellow of military build, though spare for his 
height and of an unhealthy complexion. His eyes 
were curiously dull, and their pupils interested me, 
professionally, from the very moment of his entrance. 

“ You were in charge of the prisoner Samarkan? ” 
began Smith harshly. 

“ Yes, sir,” Morrison replied. 


1 66 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


“ Were you the first to learn of his death? ” 

“ I was, sir. I looked through the grille in the 
door and saw him lying on the floor of the cell.” 

“ What time was that? ” 

“ Half-past four A. M.” 

“What did you do?” 

“ I went into the cell and then sent for the head 
warder.” 

“ You realized at once that Samarkan was dead? ” 

“ At once, yes.” 

“Were you surprised?” 

Nayland Smith subtly changed the tone of his 
voice in asking the last question, and it was evident 
that the veiled significance of the words was not lost 
upon Morrison. 

“ Well, sir,” he began, and cleared his throat 
nervously. 

“ Yes, or no! ” snapped Smith. 

Morrison still hesitated, and I saw his underlip 
twitch. Nayland Smith, taking two long strides, 
stood immediately in front of him, glaring grimly 
into his face. 

“ This is your chance,” he said emphatically; “ I 
shall not give you another. You had met Samarkan 
before? ” 

Morrison hung his head for a moment, clenching 
and unclenching his fists; then he looked up swiftly, 
and the light of a new resolution was in his eyes. 

“ I’ll take the chance, sir,” he said, speaking with 
some emotion, “ and I hope, sir ” — turning momen- 


ARREST OF SAMARKAN 


167 

tarily to Colo^nel Warrington — “that you’ll be as 
lenient as you tan; for I didn’t know there was any 
harm in what I did.” 

“ Don’t expect any leniency from me! ” cried the 
Colonel. “ If there has been a breach of discipline 
there will be punishment, rely upon it! ” 

“ I admit the breach of discipline,” pursued the 
man doggedly; “but I want to say, here and now, 
that I’ve no more idea than anybody else how 
the ” 

Smith snapped his fingers irritably. 

“The facts — the facts!” he demanded. 

What you don^t know cannot help us ! ” 

“ Well, sir,” said Morrison, clearing his throat 
again, “ when the prisoner, Samarkan, was admitted, 
and I put him safely into his cell, he told me that 
he suffered from heart trouble, that he’d had an at- 
tack when he was arrested and that he thought he 
was threatened with another, which might kill 
him ” 

“ One moment,” interrupted Smith, “ is this con- 
firmed by the police officer who made the arrest? ” 

“ It is, sir,” replied Colonel Warrington, swinging 
his chair around and consulting some papers upon 
his table. “ The prisoner was overcome by faint- 
ness when the officer showed him the warrant and 
asked to be given some cognac from the decanter 
which stood in his room. This was administered, 
and he then entered the cab which the officer had 
waiting. He was taken to Bow Street, remanded, 


1 68 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


and brought here in accordance with some one’s 
instructions.” 

My instructions,” said Smith. “ Go on, Morri- 

son. 

“ He told me,” continued Morrison more steadily, 
‘‘ that he suffered from something that sounded to 
me like apoplexy.” 

“ Catalepsy! ” I suggested, for I was beginning to 
see light. 

‘‘ That’s it, sir 1 He said he was afraid of being 
buried alive ! He asked me, as a favor, if he should 
die in prison to go to a friend of his and get a syringe 
with which to inject some stuff that would do away 
with all chance of his coming to life again after 
burial.” 

“You had no right to talk to the prisoner!” 
roared Colonel Warrington. 

“ I know that, sir, but you’ll admit that the cir- 
cumstances were peculiar. Anyway, he died in the 
night, sure enough, and from heart failure, accord- 
ing to the doctor. I managed to get a couple of 
hours’ leave in the evening, and I went and fetched 
the syringe and a little tube of yellow stuff.” 

“Do you understand, Petrie?” cried Nayland 
Smith, his eyes blazing with excitement. “ Do you 
understand? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ It’s more than I do, sir,” continued Morrison, 
“ but as I was explaining, I brought the little syringe 
back with me and I filled it from the tube. The 


ARREST OF SAMARKAN 169 

body was lying in the mortuary, which you’ve seen, 
and the door not being locked, it was easy for me to 
slip in there for a moment. I didn’t fancy the job, 
but it was soon done. I threw the syringe and the 
tube over the wall into the lane outside, as I’d been 
told to do.” 

“ What part of the wall? ” asked Smith. 

“ Behind the mortuary.” 

“That’s where they were waiting!” I cried ex- 
citedly. “ The building used as a mortuary is quite 
isolated, and it would not be a difficult matter for 
some one hiding in the lane outside to throw one of 
those ladders of silk and bamboo across the top of 
the wall.” 

“ But, my good sir,” interrupted the Governor 
irascibly, “ whilst I admit the possibility to which 
you allude, I do not admit that a dead man, and a 
heavy one at that, can be carried up a ladder of silk 
and bamboo ! Yet, on the evidence of my own eyes^ 
the body of the prisoner, Samarkan, was removed 
from the mortuary last night 1 ” 

Smith signaled to me to pursue the subject no 
further; and indeed I realized that it would have 
been no easy matter to render the amazing truth 
evident to a man of the Colonel’s type of mind. 
But to me the facts of the case were now clear 
enough. 

That Fu-Manchu possessed a preparation for pro- 
ducing artificial catalepsy, of a sort indistinguishable 
from death, I was well aware. A dose of this un- 


170 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

known drug had doubtless been contained in the 
cognac (if, indeed, the decanter had held cognac) 
that the prisoner had drunk at the time of his arrest. 
The “ yellow stuff ” spoken of by Morrison I recog- 
nized as the antidote (another secret of the brilliant 
Chinese doctor), a portion of which I had once, 
some years before, actually had in my possession. 
The “ dead man ” had not been carried up the lad- 
der ; he had climbed up ! 

“ Now, Morrison,” snapped Nayland Smith, 
“ you have acted wisely thus far. Make a clean 
breast of it. How much were you paid for the 
job?” 

“Twenty pounds, sir!” answered the man 
promptly, “ and Fd have done it for less, because I 
could see no harm in it, the prisoner being dead, 
and this his last request.” 

“ And who paid you? ” 

Now we were come to the nub of the matter, as 
the change in the man’s face revealed. He hesitated 
momentarily, and Colonel Warrington brought his 
fist down on the table with a bang. Morrison made 
a sort of gesture of resignation at that, and — 

“ When I was in the Army, sir, stationed at 
Cairo,” he said slowly, “ I regret to confess that I 
formed a drug habit.” 

“ Opium? ” snapped Smith. 

“ No, sir, hashish.” 

“ Good God! Go on.” 

“ There’s a place in Soho, just off Frith Street, 


ARREST OF SAMARKAN 


171 

where hashish is supplied, and I go there sometimes. 
Mr. Samarkan used to come, and bring people with 
him — from the New Louvre Hotel, I believe. 
That’s where I met him.” 

“ The exact address? ” demanded Smith. 

“ Cafe de I’Egypte. But the hashish is only sold 
upstairs, and no one is allowed up that isn’t known 
personally to Ismail.” 

“ Who is this Ismail?” 

“ The proprietor of the cafe. He’s a Greek Jew 
of Salonica. An old woman used to attend to the 
customers upstairs, but during the last few months 
a young one has sometimes taken her place.” 

“ What is she like? ” I asked eagerly. 

“ She has very line eyes, and that’s about all I 
can tell you, sir, because she wears a yashmak. Last 
night there were two women there, both veiled, 
though.” 

“ Two women ! ” 

Hope and fear entered my heart. That Kara- 
maneh was again in the power of the Chinese Doctor 
I knew to my sorrow. Could it be that the Cafe de 
I’Egypte was the place of her captivity? 


CHAPTER XXIV 

CAFE DE L’EGYPTE 

1 COULD see that Nayland Smith counted the 
escape of the prisoner but a trivial matter by 
comparison with the discovery to which it had led 
us. That the Soho cafe should prove to be, if not 
the head-quarters at least a regular resort of Dr. 
Fu-Manchu, was not too much to hope. The useful- 
ness of such a haunt was evident enough, since it 
might conveniently be employed as a place of ren- 
dezvous for Orientals — and furthermore enable the 
cunning Chinaman to establish relations with persons 
likely to prove of service to him. 

Formerly, he had used an East End opium den 
for this purpose, and, later, the resort known as the 
Joy-Shop. Soho, hitherto, had remained outside 
the radius of his activity, but that he should have 
embraced it at last was not surprising; for Soho is 
the Montmartre of London and a land of many 
secrets. 

“ Why,’’ demanded Nayland Smith, “ have I 
never been told of the existence of this place? ” 

“ That’s simple enough,” answered Inspector 
Weymouth. “ Although we knew of this Cafe de 
I’Egypte, we have never had the slightest trouble 
there. It’s a Bohemian resort, where members of 
172 


173 


CAFE DE L’EGYPTE 

the French Colony, some of the Chelsea art people, 
professional models, and others of that sort, fore- 
gather at night. I’ve been there myself as a matter 
of fact, and I’ve seen people well known in the 
artistic world come in. It has much the same 
clientele as, say, the Cafe Royal, with a rather 
heavier sprinkling of Hindu students, Japanese, and 
so forth. It’s celebrated for Turkish coffee.” 

“ What do you know of this Ismail? ” 

“ Nothing much. He’s a Levantine Jew.” 

“ And something more ! ” added Smith, survey- 
ing himself in the mirror, and turning to nod his 
satisfaction to the well-known perruquier whose 
services are sometimes requisitioned by the police 
authorities. 

We were ready for our visit to the Cafe de 
I’Egypte, and Smith having deemed it inadvisable 
that we should appear there openly, we had been 
transformed, under the adroit manipulation of Fos- 
ter, into a pair of Futurists oddly unlike our actual 
selves. No wigs, no false mustaches had been em- 
ployed; a change of costume and a few deft touches 
of some water-color paint had rendered us unrecog- 
nizable by our most intimate friends. 

It was all very fantastic, very reminiscent of 
Christmas charades, but the farce had a grim, mur- 
derous undercurrent; the life of one dearer to me 
than life itself hung upon our success; the swamping 
of the White world by Yellow hordes might well be 
the price of our failure. 


174 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

Weymouth left us at the corner of Frith Street. 
This was no more than a reconnaissance, but — 

“ I shall be within hail if I’m wanted,” said the 
burly detective ; and although we stood not in China- 
town but in the heart of Bohemian London, with 
popular restaurants about us, I was glad to know 
that we had so stanch an ally in reserve. 

The shadow of the great Chinaman was upon me. 
That strange, subconscious voice, with which I had 
become familiar in the past, awoke within me to- 
night. Not by logic, but by prescience, I knew that 
the Yellow doctor was near. 

Two minutes’ walk brought us to the door of the 
cafe. The upper half was of glass, neatly curtained, 
as were the windows on either side of it; and above 
the establishment appeared the words : “ Cafe de 

I’Egypte.” Between the second and third word was 
inserted a gilded device representing the crescent of 
Islam. 

We entered. On our right was a room furnished 
with marble-topped tables, cane-seated chairs and 
plush-covered lounges set against the walls. The 
air was heavy with tobacco smoke; evidently the 
cafe was full, although the night was young. 

Smith immediately made for the upper end of the 
room. It was not large, and at first glance I thought 
that there was no vacant place. Presently, how- 
ever, I espied two unoccupied chairs; and these we 
took, finding ourselves facing a pale, bespectacled 
young man, with long, fair hair and faded eyes, 


175 


CAFE DE L’EGYPTE 

whose companion, a bold brunette, was smoking one 
of the largest cigarettes I had ever seen, in a gold 
and amber cigar-holder. 

A very commonplace Swiss waiter took our orders 
for coffee, and we began discreetly to survey our 
surroundings. The only touch of Oriental color 
thus far perceptible in the Cafe de I’Egypte was 
provided by a red-capped Egyptian behind a nar- 
row counter, who presided over the coffee pots. 
The patrons of the establishment were in every 
way typical of Soho, and in the bulk differed not 
at all from those of the better known cafe restau- 
rants. 

There were several Easterns present; but Smith, 
having given each of them a searching glance, 
turned to me with a slight shrug of disappointment. 
Coffee being placed before us, we sat sipping the 
thick, sugary beverage, smoking cigarettes and 
vainly seeking for some clue to guide us 4:o the inner 
sanctuary consecrated to hashish. It was madden- 
ing to think that Karamaneh might be somewhere 
concealed in the building, whilst I sat there, inert, 
amongst this gathering whose conversation was of 
abnormalities in art, music, and literature. 

Then, suddenly, the pale young man seated oppo- 
site paid his bill, and with a word of farewell to his 
companion, went out of the cafe. He did not make 
his exit by the door through which we had entered, 
but passed up the crowded room to the counter 
whereat the Egyptian presided. From some place 


176 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

hidden in the rear, emerged a black-haired, swarthy 
man, with whom the other exchanged a few words. 
The pale young artist raised his wide-brimmed hat, 
and was gone — through a curtained doorway on 
the left of the counter. 

As he opened it, I had a glimpse of a narrow 
court beyond; then the door Was closed again . . . 
and I found myself thinking of the peculiar eyes 
of the departed visitor. Even through the thick 
pebbles of his spectacles, although for some reason 
I had thought little of the matter at the time, his 
oddly contracted pupils were noticeable. As the 
girl, in turn, rose and left the cafe — but by the 
ordinary door — I turned to Smith. 

“ That man ...” I began, and paused. 

Smith was watching covertly, a Hindu seated at 
a neighboring table, who was about to settle his 
bill. Standing up, the Hindu made for the coffee 
counter, the swarthy man appeared out of the back- 
ground — and the Asiatic visitor went out by the 
door opening into the court. 

One quick glance Smith gave me, and raised his 
hand for the waiter. A few minutes later we were 
out in the street again. 

“We must find our way to that court! ” snapped 
my friend. “ Let us try back. I noted a sort of 
alley-way which we passed just before reaching the 
cafe.” 

“ You think the hashish den is in some adjoining 
building? ” 


CAFE DE L’EGYPTE 177 

“ I don’t know where it is, Petrie, but I know the 
way to it I ” 

Into a narrow, gloomy court we plunged, hemmed 
in by high walls, and followed it for ten yards or 
more. An even narrower and less inviting turning 
revealed itself on the left. We pursued our way, 
and presently found ourselves, at the back of the 
Cafe de I’Egypte. 

“ There’s the door,” I said. 

It opened into a tiny cul de sac, flanked by dilapi- 
dated hoardings, and no other door of any kind was 
visible in the vicinity. Nayland Smith stood tug- 
ging at the lobe of his ear almost savagely. 

“ Where the devil do they go? ” he whispered. 

Even as he spoke the words, came a gleam of light 
through the upper curtained part of the door, and I 
distinctly saw the figure of a man in silhouette. 

“ Stand back! ” snapped Smith. 

We crouched back against the dirty wall of the 
court, and watched a strange thing happen. The 
back door of the Cafe de I’Egypte openedoutward, 
simultaneously a door, hitherto invisible, set at right 
angles in the hoarding adjoining, opened inward! 

A man emerged from the cafe and entered the 
secret doorway. As he did so, the cafe door swung 
back . . . and closed the door in the hoarding! 

“ Very good! ” muttered Nayland Smith. “ Our 
friend Ismail, behind the counter, moves some lever 
which causes the opening of one door automatically 
to open the other. Failing his kindly offices, the 


178 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

second exit from the Cafe de I’Egypte is innocent 
enough. Now — what is the next move? ” 

“ I have an idea, Smith! ” I cried. “ According 
to Morrison, the place in which the hashish may be 
obtained has no windows but is lighted from above. 
No doubt it was built for a studio and has a glass 
roof. Therefore — - — ” 

“ Come along! ” snapped Smith, grasping my arm; 
“ you have solved the difficulty, Petrie.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE HOUSE OF HASHISH 
LONG the leads from Frith Street we worked 



our perilous way. From the top landing of a 
French restaurant we had gained access, by means of 
a trap, to the roof of the building. Now, the busy 
streets of Soho were below me, and I clung dizzily to 
telephone standards and smoke stacks, rarely ventur- 
ing to glance downward upon the cosmopolitan 
throng, surging, dwarfish, in the lighted depths. 

Sometimes the bulky figure of Inspector Weymouth 
would loom up grotesquely against the star-sprinkled 
blue,* as he paused to take breath; the next moment 
Nayland Smith would be leading the way again, and I 
would find myself contemplating some sheer well of 
blackness, with nausea threatening me because it had 
to be negotiated. 

None of these gaps were more than a long stride 
from side to side ; but the sense of depth conveyed in 
the muffled voices and dimmed footsteps from the 
pavements far below was almost overpowering. In- 
deed, I am convinced that for my part I should never 
have essayed that nightmare journey were it not that 
the musical voice of Karamaneh seemed to be calling 
to me, her little white hands to be seeking mine, 
blindly, in the darkness. 


179 


i8o THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


That we were close to a haunt of the dreadful 
Chinamen I was persuaded; therefore my hatred and 
my love cooperated to lend me a coolness and ad- 
dress which otherwise I must have lacked. 

“ Hullo ! ” cried Smith, who was leading — “ what 
now? ” 

We had crept along the crown of a sloping roof 
and were confronted by the blank wall of a building 
which rose a story higher than that adjoining it. 
It was crowned by an iron railing, showing blackly 
against the sky. I paused, breathing heavily, and 
seated astride that dizzy perch. Weymouth was im- 
mediately behind me, and — 

“ It’s the Cafe de I’Egypte, Mr. Smith! ” he said, 
“ If you’ll look up, you will see the reflection of the 
lights shining through the glass roof.” 

Vaguely I discerned Nayland Smith rising to his 
feet. 

“Be careful!” I said. “For God’s sake don’t 
slip ! ” 

“ Take my hand,” he snapped energetically. 

I stretched forward and grasped his hand. As 1 
did so, he slid down the slope on the right, away 
from the street, and hung perilously for a moment 
over the very cul de sac upon which the secret door 
opened. 

“Good!” he muttered. “There is, as I had 
hoped, a window lighting the top of the staircase. 
Ssh! — ssh!” 

His grip upon my hand tightened; and there aloft, 


THE HOUSE OF HASHISH 


i8i 

above the teemful streets of Soho, I sat listening 
. . . whilst very faint and muffled footsteps 
sounded upon an uncarpeted stair, a door banged, 
and all was silent again, save for the ceaseless tur- 
moil far below. 

“ Sit tight, and catch ! ’’gapped Smith. 

Into my extended hands he swung his boots, fas- 
tened together by. the laces! Then, ere I could 
frame any protest, he disengaged his hand from 
mine, and, pressing his body close against the angle 
of the building, worked his way around to the stair- 
case window, which was invisible from where I 
crouched.' 

“ Heavens I ” muttered Weymouth, close to my 
ear, “ I can never travel that road! ” 

“ Nor I ! ” was my scarcely audible answer. 

In an anguish of fearful anticipation I listened for 
the cry and the dull thud which should proclaim 
the fate of my intrepid friend; but no such sounds 
came to me. Some thirty seconds passed in this 
fashion, when a subdued call from above caused me 
to start and look aloft. 

Nayland Smith was peering down from the railing 
on the roof. 

“ Mind your head ! ’’ he warned — and over the 
rail swung the end of a light wooden ladder, lowering 
it until it rested upon the crest astride of which I sat. 

“ Up you come ! — then Weymouth ! ” 

Whilst Smith held the top firmly, I climbed up 
rung by rung, not daring to think of what lay below. 


1 82 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


My relief when at last I grasped the railing, climbed 
over, and found myself upon a wooden platform, 
was truly inexpressible. 

“ Come on, Weymouth 1 ” rapped Nayland Smith. 
“ This ladder has to be lowered back down the trap 
before another visitor arrives! ” 

Taking short, staccato breaths at every step. In- 
spector Weymouth ascended, ungainly, that frail and 
moving stair. Arrived beside me, he wiped the 
perspiration from his face and forehead. 

‘‘ I wouldn’t do it again for a hundred pounds 1 ” 
he said hoarsely. 

“ You don’t have to ! ” snapped Smith. 

Back he hauled the ladder, shouldered it, and 
stepping to a square opening in one corner of the 
rickety platform, lowered it cautiously down. 

“ Have you a knife with a corkscrew in it? ” he 
demanded. 

Weymouth had one, which he produced. Nay- 
land Smith screwed it into the weather-worn frame, 
and by that means reclosed the trapdoor softly, 
then — 

“ Look,” he said, “ there is the house of hashish ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVI 

“ THE demon’s self ” 

T hrough the glass panes of the skylight I 
looked down upon a scene so bizarre that my 
actual environment became blotted out, and I was 
mentally translated to Cairo — to that quarter of 
Cairo immediately surrounding the famous Square 
of the Fountain — to those indescribable streets, 
wherefrom arises the perfume of deathless evil, 
wherein, to the wailing, luresome music of the reed 
pipe, painted dancing-girls sway in the wild abandon 
of dances that were ancient when Thebes was the 
City of a Hundred Gates; I seemed to stand again 
in el Wasr. 

The room below was rectangular, and around 
three of the walls were divans strewn with garish 
cushions, whilst highly colored Eastern rugs were 
spread about the floor. Four lamps swung on chains, 
two from either of the beams which traversed the 
apartment. They were fine examples of native per- 
forated brasswork. 

Upon the divans some eight or nine men were 
seated, fully half of whom were Orientals or half- 
castes. Before each stood a little inlaid table bear- 
183 


1 84 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

ing a brass tray; and upon the trays were various 
boxes, some apparently containing sweetmeats, others 
cigarettes. One or two of the visitors smoked curi- 
ous, long-stemmed pipes and sip{)ed coffee. 

. Even as I leaned from the platform, surveying that 
incredible scene (incredible in a street of Soho), an- 
other devotee of hashish entered — a tall, distin- 
guished-looking man, wearing a light coat over his 
evening dress. 

“Gad!” whispered Smith, beside me — “Sir 
Byngham Pyne of the India Office I You see, Petrie 1 
You see I This place is a lure. My God 1 . . . ” 

He broke off, as I clutched wildly at his arm. 

The last arrival having taken his seat in a corner 
of the divan, two heavy curtains draped before an 
opening at one end of the room parted, and a girl 
came out, carrying a tray such as already reposed 
before each of the other men in the room. 

She wore a dress of dark lilac-colored gauze, 
banded about with gold tissue and embroidered with 
gold thread and pearls; and around her shoulders 
floated, so ethereally that she seemed to move in a 
violet cloud, a scarf of Delhi muslin. A white yash- 
mak trimmed with gold tissue concealed the lower 
part of her face. 

My heart throbbed wildly; I seemed to be choking. 
By the wonderful hair alone I must have known her, 
by the great, brilliant eyes, by the shape of those slim 
white ankles, by every movement of that exquisite 
form. It was Karamaneh 1 


“THE DEMON’S SELF” 185 

I sprang madly back from the rail . . . and 
Smith had my arm in an iron grip. 

“ Where are you going? ” he snapped. 

“ Where am I going? ” I cried. “ Do you 
think ” 

“What do you propose to do?” he interrupted 
harshly. “ Do you know so little of the resources 
of Dr. Fu-Manchu that you would throw yourself 
blindly into that den ? Damn it all, man ! I know 
what you suffer! — but wait — wait. We must not 
act rashly; our plans must be well considered.” 

He drew me back to my former post and clapped 
his hand on my shoulder sympathetically. Clutch- 
ing the rail like a man frenzied, as indeed I was, I 
looked down into that infamous den again, striving 
hard for composure. 

Karamaneh listlessly placed the tray upon the little 
table before Sir Byngham Pyne and withdrew with- 
out vouchsafing him a single glance in acknowledg- 
ment of his unconcealed admiration. 

A moment later, above the dim clamor of London 
far below, there crept to my ears a sound which 
completed the magical quality of the scene, render- 
ing that sky platform on a roof of Soho a magical 
carpet bearing me to the golden Orient. This sound 
was the wailing of a reed pipe. 

“ The company is complete,” murmured Smith. 
“ I had expected this.” 

Again the curtains parted, and a ghazeeyeh glided 
out into the room. She wore a white dress, clinging 


1 86 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


closely to her figure from shoulders to hips, where 
it was clasped by an ornate girdle, and a skirt of 
sky-blue gauze which clothed her as lo was clothed 
of old. Her arms were covered with gold bangles, 
and gold bands were clasped about her ankles. Her 
jet-black, frizzy hair was unconfined and without 
ornament, and she wore a sort of highly colored 
scarf so arranged that it effectually concealed the 
greater part of her face, but served to accentuate 
the brightness of the great flashing eyes. She had 
unmistakable beauty of a sort, but how different 
from the sweet witchery of Karamanehl 

With a bold, swinging grace she walked down the 
center of the room, swaying her arms from side to 
side and snapping her fingers. 

“ Zarmi ! ” exclaimed Smith. 

But his exclamation was unnecessary, for already 
I had recognized the evil Eurasian who was so 
efficient a servant of the Chinese doctor. 

The wailing of the pipes continued, and now 
faintly I could detect the throbbing of a darabukeh. 
This was el Wasr indeed. The dance commenced, 
its every phase followed eagerly by the motley 
clientele of the hashish house. Zarmi danced with 
an insolent nonchalance that nevertheless displayed 
her barbaric beauty to greatest advantage. She was 
lithe as a serpent, graceful as a young panther, 
another Lamia come to damn the souls of men with 
those arts denounced in a long dead age by Apol- 
lonius of Tyana. 


“ THE DEMON’S SELF 


“ She seemed, at once, some penanced lady elf, 

Some demon’s mistress, or the demon’s self. . . 

Entranced against my will, I watched the Eura- 
sian until, the barbaric dance completed, she ran 
from the room, and the curtains concealed her from 
view. How my mind was torn between hope and 
fear that I should see Karamaneh again! How I 
longed for one more glimpse of her, yet loathed the 
thought of her presence in that infamous house. 

She was a captive; of that there could be no 
doubt, a captive in the hands of the giant criminal 
whose wiles were endless, whose resources were 
boundless, whose intense cunning had enabled him, 
for years, to weave his nefarious plots in the very 
heart of civilization, and remain immune. Sud- 
denly — 

“ That woman is a sorceress! ” muttered Nayland 
Smith. “ There is about her something serpentine, 
at once repelling and fascinating. It would be of in- 
terest, Petrie, to learn what State secrets have been 
filched from the brains of habitues of this den, and 
interesting to know from what unsuspected spy-hole 
Fu-Manchu views his nightly catch. If. . .” 

His voice died away, in a most curious fashion. 
I have since thought that here was a case of true 
telepathy. For, as Smith spoke of Fu-Manchu’s spy- 
hole, the idea leapt instantly to my mind that this 
was it — this strange platform upon which we stood ! 

I drew back from the rail, turned, and stared at 


1 88 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


Smith. I read in his face that our suspicions were 
identical. Then — 

“ Look! Look! ” whispered Weymouth. 

He was gazing at the trapdoor — which was 
slowly rising; inch by inch . . . inch by inch. . . 

Fascinatedly, raptly, we all gazed. A head appeared 
in the opening — and some vague, reflected light re- 
vealed two long, narrow, slightly oblique eyes watch- 
ing us. They were brilliantly green. 

“ By God! ” came in a mighty roar from Wey- 
mouth. Ifs Dr. Fu-Manchu! 

As one man we leapt for the trap. It dropped, 
with a resounding bang — and I distinctly heard a 
bolt shot home. 

A guttural voice — the unmistakable, unforget- 
table voice of Fu-Manchu — sounded dimly from be- 
low. I turned and sprang back to the rail of the 
platform, peering down into the hashish house. The 
occupants of the divans were making for the cur- 
tained doorway. Some, who seemed to be in a state 
of stupor, were being assisted by the others and by 
the man, Ismail, who had now appeared upon the 
scene. 

Of Karamaneh, Zarmi, or Fu-Manchu there was 
no sign. 

Suddenly, the lights were extinguished. 

“This is maddening!” cried Nayland Smith — 
“ maddening 1 No doubt they have some other exit, 
some hiding-place — and they are slipping through 
our hands ! ” 


‘‘THE DEMON’S SELF” 189 

Inspector Weymouth blew a shrill blast upon his 
whistle, and Smith, running to the rail of the plat- 
form, began to shatter the panes of the skylight with 
his foot. 

“ That’s hopeless, sir ! ” cried Weymouth. 
“ You’d be torn to pieces on the jagged glass.” 

Smith desisted, with a savage exclamation, and 
stood beating his right fist into the palm of his 
left hand, and glaring madly at the Scotland Yard 
man. 

“ I know I’m to blame,” admitted Weymouth; 

but the words were out before I knew I’d spoken. 
Ah ! ” — as an answering whistle came from some- 
where in the street below. “ But will they ever find 
us? ” 

He blew again shrilly. Several whistles replied 
. . . and a wisp of smoke floated up from the shat- 
tered pane of the skylight. 

“ I can smell petrol! ” muttered Weymouth. 

An ever-increasing roar, not unlike that of an ap- 
proaching storm at sea, came from the streets be- 
neath. Whistles skirled, remotely and intimately, 
and sometimes one voice, sometimes another, would 
detach itself from this stormy background with weird 
effect. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the hashish 
house there went on ceaselessly a splintering and 
crashing as though a determined assault were being 
made upon a door. A light shone up through the 
skylight. 

Back once more to the rail I sprang, looked down 


190 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

into the room below — and saw a sight never to be 
forgotten. 

Passing from divan to curtained door, from piles 
of cushions to stacked-up tables, and bearing a 
flaming torch hastily improvised out of a roll of 
newspaper, was Dr. Fu-Manchu. Everything in- 
flammable in the place had been soaked with petrol, 
and, his gaunt, yellow face lighted by the evergrow- 
ing conflagration, so that truly it seemed not the face 
of a man, but that of a demon of the hells, the 
Chinese doctor ignited point after point. . . . 

“Smith!” I screamed, “we are trapped! that 
flend means to burn us alive ! ” 

“And the place will flare like matchwood! It’s 
touch and go this time, Petrie ! To drop to the slop- 
ing roof underneath would mean almost certain 
death on the pavement. ...” 

I dragged my pistol from my pocket and began 
wildly to fire shot after shot into the holocaust below. 
But the awful Chinaman had escaped — probably 
by some secret exit reserved for his own use; for 
certainly he must have known that escape into the 
court was now cut off. 

Flames were beginning to hiss through the sky- 
light. A tremendous crackling and crashing told of 
the glass destroyed. Smoke spurted up through the 
cracks of the boarding upon which we stood — and 
a great shout came from the crowd in the 
streets .... 

In the distance — a long, long way off, it seemed 


“ THE DEMON’S SELF 


— was born a new note in the stormy human sym- 
phony. It grew in volume, it seemed to be sweeping 
down upon us — nearer — nearer — nearer. Now 
it was in the streets immediately adjoining the Cafe 
de I’Egypte . . . and now, blessed sound! it cul- 
minated in a mighty surging cheer. 

“ The fire-engines,” said Weymouth coolly — and 
raised himself on to the lower rail, for the platform 
was growing uncomfortably hot. 

Tongues of fire licked out, venomously, from be- 
neath my feet. I leapt for the railing in turn, and 
sat astride it ... as one end of the flooring burst 
into flame. 

The heat from the blazing room above which we 
hung suspended was now all but insupportable, and 
the fumes threatened to stifle us. My head seemed 
to be bursting; my throat and lungs were consumed 
by internal fires. 

‘‘ Merciful heavens ! ” whispered Smith. “ Will 
they reach us in time? ” 

‘‘ Not if they don’t get here within the next thirty 
seconds!” answered Weymouth grimly — and 
changed his position, in order to avoid a tongue of 
flame that hungrily sought to reach him. 

Nayland Smith turned and looked me squarely in 
the eyes. Words trembled on his tongue ; but those 
words were never spoken . . . for a brass helmet 
appeared suddenly out of the smoke banks, followed 
almost immediately by a second. . . . 

‘‘ Quick, sir I this way ! Jump ! I’ll catch you ! ” 


192 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Exactly what followed I never knew; but there was 
a mighty burst of cheering, a sense of tension re- 
leased, and it became a task less agonizing to breathe. 

Feeling very dazed, I found myself in the heart 
of a huge, excited crowd, with Weymouth beside me, 
and Nayland Smith holding my arm. Vaguely, 1 
heard : — 

“ They have the man Ismail, but ...” 

A hollow crash drowned the end of the sentence. 
A shower of sparks shot up into the night’s darkness 
high above our heads. 

“ That’s the platform gone ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


ROOM WITH THE GOLDEN DOOR 

O NE night early in the following week I sat at 
work upon my notes dealing with our almost 
miraculous escape from the blazing hashish house 
when the clock of St. Paul’s began to strike mid- 
night. 

I paused in my work, leaning back wearily and 
wondering what detained Nayland Smith so late. 
Some friends from Burma had carried him off to a 
theater, and in their good company I had thought 
him safe enough; yet, with the omnipresent menace 
of Fu-Manchu hanging over our heads, always 1 
doubted, always I feared, if my friend should chance 
to be delayed abroad at night. 

What a world of unreality was mine, in those 
days ! Jostling, as I did, commonplace folk in com- 
monplace surroundings, I yet knew myself removed 
from them, knew myself all but alone in my knowl- 
edge of the great and evil man, whose presence in 
England had diverted my life into these strange chan- 
nels. 

But, despite of all my knowledge, and despite the 
infinitely greater knowledge and wider experience of 
193 


194 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

Nayland Smith, what did I know, what did he know, 
of the strange organization called the Si-Fan, and of 
its most formidable member. Dr. Fu-Manchu? 
Where did the dreadful Chinaman hide, with his 
murderers, his poisons, and his nameless death 
agents? What roof in broad England sheltered 
Karamaneh, the companion of my dreams, the desire 
of every waking hour? 

I uttered a sigh of despair, when, to my unbounded 
astonishment, there came a loud rap upon the window 
pane ! 

Leaping up, I crossed to the window, threw it 
widely open and leant out, looking down into the 
court below. It was deserted. In no other window 
visible to me was any light to be seen, and no living 
thing moved in the shadows beneath. The clamor 
of Fleet Street’s diminishing traffic came dimly to 
my ears; the last stroke from St. Paul’s quivered 
through the night. 

What was the meaning of the sound which had dis- 
turbed me? Surely I could not have imagined it? 
Yet, right, left, above and below, from the cloister- 
esque shadows on the east of the court to the blank 
wall of the building on the west, no living thing 
stirred. 

Quietly, I reclosed the window, and stood by it 
for a moment listening. Nothing occurred, and I re- 
turned to the writing-table, puzzled, but in no sense 
alarmed. I resumed the seemingly interminable 
record of the Si-Fan mysteries, and I had just taken 


ROOM WITH THE GOLDEN DOOR 193 

up my pen, when . . . two loud raps sounded upon 
the pane behind me. 

In a trice I was at the window, had thrown it 
open, and was craning out. Practical joking was not 
characteristic of Nayland Smith, and I knew of none 
other likely to take such a liberty. As before, the 
court below proved to be empty .... 

Some one was softly rapping at the door of the 
chambers ! 

I turned swiftly from the open window; and now, 
came fear. Momentarily, the icy finger of panic 
touched me, for I thought myself invested upon all 
sides. Who could this late caller be, this midnight 
visitor who rapped, ghostly, in preference to ringing 
the bell? 

From the table drawer I took out a Browning 
pistol, slipped it into my pocket and crossed to the 
narrow hallway. It was in darkness, but I depressed 
the switch, lighting the lamp. Toward the closed 
door I looked — as the soft rapping was repeated. 

I advanced; then hesitated, and, strung up to a 
keen pitch of fearful anticipation, stood there in 
doubt. The silence remained unbroken for the space, 
perhaps, of half a minute. Then again came the 
ghostly rapping. 

“ Who’s there? ” I cried loudly. 

Nothing stirred outside the door, and still I hesi- 
tated. To some who read, my hesitancy may brand 
me childishly timid; but I, who had met many of the 
dreadful creatures of Dr. Fu-Manchu, had good rea- 


196 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

son to fear whomsoever or whatsoever rapped at mid- 
night upon my door. Was I likely to forget the 
great half-human ape, with the strength of four lusty 
men, which once he had loosed upon us? — had I not 
cause to remember his Burmese dacoits and Chinese 
stranglers ? 

No, I had just cause for dread, as I fully recog- 
nized when, snatching the pistol from my pocket, I 
strode forward, flung wide the door, and stood peer- 
ing out into the black gulf of the stairhead. 

Nothing, no one, appeared 1 

Conscious of a longing to cry out — if only that 
the sound of my own voice might reassure me — I 
stood listening. The silence was complete. 

“ Who’s there? ” I cried again, and loudly enough 
to arrest the attention of the occupant of the cham- 
bers opposite if he chanced to be at home. 

None replied; and, finding this phantom silence 
more nerve-racking (?han any clamor, I stepped out- 
side the door — and my heart gave a great leap, then 
seemed to remain suspended inert, in my breast. . . , 

Right and left of me, upon either side of the door- 
way, stood a dim figure : I had wdked deliberately 
into a trap ! 

The shock of the discovery paralyzed my mind 
for one instant. In the next, and with the 
sinister pair closing swiftly upon me, I stepped back 
— I stepped into the arms of some third assailant, 
who must have entered the chambers by way of the 
open window and silently crept up behind me I 


ROOM WITH THE GOLDEN DOOR 


197 


So much I realized, and no more. A bag, reeking 
of some hashish-like perfume, was clapped over my 
head and pressed firmly against mouth and nostrils. 
I felt myself to be stifling — dying — and dropping 
into a bottomless pit. 

When I opened my eyes I failed for some time to 
realize that I was conscious in the true sense of the 
word, that I was really awake. 

I sat upon a bench covered with a red carpet, in 
a fair-sized room, very simply furnished, in the 
Chinese manner, but having a two-leaved, gilded 
door, which was shut. At the further end of this 
apartment was a dais some three feet high, also 
carpeted with red, and upon it was placed a very 
large cushion covered with a tiger skin. 

Seated cross-legged upon the cushion was a China- 
man of most majestic appearance. His countenance 
was truly noble and gracious and he was dressed in 
a yellow robe lined with marten-fur. His hair, 
which was thickly splashed with gray, was confined 
upon the top of his head by three golden combs, and 
a large diamond was suspended from his left ear. 
A pearl-embroidered black cap, surmounted by the 
red coral ball denoting the mandarin’s rank, lay upon 
a second smaller cushion beside him. 

Leaning back against the wall, I stared at his per- 
sonage with a dreadful fixity, for I counted him the 
figment of a disarranged mind. But palpably he re- 
mained before me, fanning himself complacently, and 


198 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

watching me with every mark of kindly interest. 
Evidently perceiving that I was fully alive to my sur- 
roundings, the Chinaman addressed a remark to me 
in a tongue quite unfamiliar. 

I shook my head dazedly. 

“ Ah,” he commented in French, “ you do not 
speak my language.” 

I do not,” I answered, also in French; “ but since 
it seems we have one common tongue, what is the 
meaning of the outrage to which I have been sub- 
jected, and who are you? ” 

As I spoke the words I rose to my feet, but was im- 
mediately attacked by vertigo, which compelled me to 
resume my seat upon the bench. 

“ Compose yourself,” said the Chinaman, taking a 
pinch of snuff from a silver vase which stood con- 
venient to his hand. “ I have been compelled to 
adopt certain measures in order to bring about this in- 
terview. In China, such measures are not unusual, 
but I recognize that they are out of accordance with 
your English ideas.” 

“ Emphatically they are ! ” I replied. 

The placid manner of this singularly imposing old 
man rendered proper resentment difficult. A sense 
of futility, and of unreality, claimed me; I felt 
that this was a dream-world, governed by dream- 
laws. 

“ You have good reason,” he continued, calmly 
raising the pinch of snuff to his nostrils, “ good rea- 
son to distrust all that is Chinese. Therefore, when 


ROOM WITH THE GOLDEN DOOR 199 

I despatched my servants to your abode (knowing you 
to be alone) I instructed them to observe every law 
of courtesy, compatible with the Sure Invitation. 
Hence, I pray you, absolve me, for I intended no of- 
fense.” 

Words failed me altogether; wonder succeeded 
wonder! *What was coming? What did it all 
mean? 

‘‘ I have selected you, rather than Mr. Commis- 
sioner Nayland Smith,” continued the mandarin, “ as 
the recipient of those secrets which I am about to 
impart, for the reason that your friend might pos- 
sibly be acquainted with my appearance. I will con- 
fess that there was a time when I must have regarded 
you with animosity, as one who sought the destruc- 
tion of the most ancient and potent organization in 
the world — the Si-Fan.” 

As he uttered the words he raised his right hand 
and touched his forehead, his mouth, and finally his 
breast — a gesture reminiscent of that employed by 
Moslems. 

“ But my first task is to assure you,” he resumed, 
“ that the activities of that Order are in no way 
inimical to yourself, your country or your King. 
The extensive ramifications of the Order have re- 
cently been employed by a certain Dr. Fu-Manchu 
for his own ends, and, since he was (I admit it) a 
high official, a schism has been created in our ranks. 
Exactly a month ago, sentence of death was passed 
upon him by the Sublime Prince, and, since I my- 


200 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


self must return immediately to China, I look to 
Mr. Nayland Smith to carry out that sentence.” 

I said nothing; I remained bereft of the power 
of speech. 

“ The Si-Fan,” he added, repeating the gesture 
with his hand, “ disown Dr. Fu-Manchu and his 
servants; do with them what you will. "In this en- 
velope ” — he held up a sealed package — “ is in- 
formation which should prove helpful to Mr. Smith. 
I have now a request to make. You were conveyed 
here in the garments which you wore at the time that 
my servants called upon you.” (I was hatless and 
wore red leathern slippers.) “An overcoat and a 
hat can doubtless be found to suit you, temporarily, 
and my request is that you close your eyes until per- 
mission is given to open them.” 

Is there any one of my readers in doubt respect- 
ing my reception of this proposal? Remember my 
situation, remember the bizarre happenings that had 
led up to it; remember, too, ere judging me, that 
whilst I could not doubt the unseen presence of 
Chinamen unnumbered surrounding that strange 
apartment with the golden door, I had not the re- 
motest clue to guide me in determining where it was 
situated. Since the duration of my unconsciousness 
was immeasurable, the place in which I found my- 
self might have been anywhere, within say, thirty 
miles of Fleet Street I 

“ I agree,” I said. 

The mandarin bowed composedly. 


ROOM WITH THE GOLDEN DOOR 201 


“ Kindly close your eyes, Dr. Petrie,” he requested, 
“ and fear nothing. No danger threatens you.” 

I obeyed. Instantly sounded the note of a gong, 
and I became aware that the golden door was open. 
A soft voice, evidently that of a cultured China- 
man, spoke quite close to my ear — 

“ Keep your eyes tightly closed, please, and I will 
help you on with this coat. The envelope you will 
find in the pocket and here is a tweed cap. Now 
take my hand.” 

Wearing the borrowed garments, I was led from 
the room, along a passage, down a flight of thickly 
carpeted stairs, and so out of the house into the street. 
Faint evidences of remote traffic reached my ears 
as I was assisted into a car and placed in a cushioned 
corner. The car moved off, proceeding for some 
distance; then — 

“ Allow me to help you to descend,” said the soft 
voice. “ You may open your eyes in thirty seconds.” 

I was assisted from the step on to the pavement 
— and I heard the car being driven back. Having 
slowly counted thirty I opened my eyes, and looked 
about me. This, and not the fevered moment when 
first I had looked upon the room with the golden 
door, seemed to be my true awakening, for about 
me was a comprehensible world, the homely streets 
of London, with deserted Portland Place stretching 
away on the one hand and a glimpse of midnight 
Regent Street obtainable on the other! The clock 
of the neighboring church struck one. 


202 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


My mind yet dull with wonder of it all, I walked 
on to Oxford Circus and there obtained a taxicab, 
in which I drove to Fleet Street. Discharging the 
man, I passed quickly under the time worn archway 
into the court and approached our stair. Indeed, 
I was about to ascend when some one came racing 
down and almost knocked me over. 

“ Petrie! Petrie! Thank God you’re safe! ” 

It was Nayland Smith, his eyes blazing with ex- 
citement, as I could see by the dim light of the lamp 
near the archway, and his hands, as he clapped them 
upon my shoulders, quivering tensely. 

“Petrie!” he ran on impulsively, and speaking 
with extraordinary rapidity, “ I was detained by a 
most ingenious trick and arrived only five minutes 
ago, to find you missing, the window wide open, and 
signs of hooks, evidently to support a rope ladder, 
having been attached to the ledge.” 

“ But where were you going? ” 

“ Weymouth has just rung up. We have indis- 
putable proof that the mandarin Ki-Ming, whom I 
had believed to be dead, and whom I know for a 
high official of the Si-Fan, is actually in London! 
It’s neck or nothing this time, Petrie! I’m going 
straight to Portland Place ! ” 

“To the Chinese Legation?” 

“Exactly!” 

“ Perhaps I can save you a journey,” I said slowly. 
“ I have just come from there ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE MANDARIN KI-MING 

N AYLAND smith Strode up and down the 
little sitting-room, tugging almost savagely at 
the lobe of his left ear. To-night his increasing 
grayness was very perceptible, and with his feverishly 
bright eyes staring straightly before him, he looked 
haggard and ill, despite the deceptive tan of his skin. 

“ Petrie,” he began in his abrupt fashion, “ I am 
losing confidence in myself.” 

“ Why? ” I asked in surprise. 

hardly know; but for some occult reason I 
feel afraid.” 

“Afraid?” 

“ Exactly; afraid. There is some deep mystery 
here that I cannot fathom. In the first place, if they 
had really meant you to remain ignorant of the 
place at which the episodes described by you occurred, 
they would scarcely have dropped you at the end of 
Portland Place.” 

“ You mean . . . ? ” 

“ I mean that I don’t believe you were taken to 
the Chinese Legation at all. Undoubtedly you saw 
the mandarin Ki-Ming; I recognize him from your 
description.” 


203 


204 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

“ You have met him, then? ” 

“No; but I know those who have. He Is un- 
doubtedly a very dangerous man, and It Is just pos- 
sible ” 

He hesitated, glancing at me strangely. 

“ It Is just possible,” he continued musingly, 
“ that his presence marks the beginning of the end. 
Fu-Manchu’s health may be permanently impaired, 
and KI-MIng may have superseded him.” 

“ But, If what you suspect. Smith, be only partly 
true, with what object was I seized and carried to 
that singular interview? What was the meaning of 
the whole solemn farce ? ” 

“ Its meaning remains to be discovered,” he 
answered; “but that the mandarin Is amicably dis- 
posed I refuse to believe. You may dismiss the 
idea. In dealing with Ki-MIng we are to all intents 
and purposes dealing with Fu-Manchu. To me, 
this man’s presence means one thing: we are about 
to be subjected to attempts along slightly different 
lines.” 

I was completely puzzled by Smith’s tone. 

“ You evidently know more of this man, KI-MIng, 
than you have yet explained to me,” I said. 

Nayland Smith pulled out the blackened briar and 
began rapidly to load it. 

“ He is a graduate,” he replied, “ of the Lama 
College, or monastery, of Rache-Churan.” 

“ This does not enlighten me.” 

Having got his pipe going well — 


THE MANDARIN KI-MING 


205 


; “What do you know of animal magnetism?” 
snapped Smith. 

The question seemed so wildly irrelevant that I 
stared at him in silence for some moments. Then — 

“ Certain powers sometimes grouped under that 
head are recognized in every hospital to-day,” I 
answered shortly. 

“ Quite so. And the monastery of Rache-Churan 
is entirely devoted to the study of the subject.” 

“ Do you mean that that gentle old man ” 

“ Petrie, a certain M. Sokoloff, a Russian gentle- 
man whose acquaintance I made in Mandalay, re- 
lated to me an episode that took place at the house 
of the mandarin Ki-Ming in Canton. It actually oc- 
curred In the presence of M. Sokoloff, and therefore 
is worthy of your close attention. 

“ He had had certain transactions with Ki-Ming, 
and at their conclusion received an invitation to dine 
with the mandarin. The entertainment took place 
in a sort of loggia or open pavilion, immediately in 
front of which was an ornamental lake, with nu- 
merous waterlilies growing upon its surface. One 
of the servants, I think his name was Li, dropped a 
silver bowl containing orange-flower water for pour- 
ing upon the hands, and some of the contents lightly 
sprinkled M. Sokoloff’s garments. 

“ KI-MIng spoke no word of rebuke, Petrie; he 
merely looked at LI, with those deceptive, gazelle-like 
eyes. Li, according to my acquaintance’s account, 
began to make palpable and increasingly anxious at- 


2o6 the hand of FU-MANCHU 


tempts to look anywhere rather than into the mild 
eyes of his implacable master. M. Sokoloh, who, 
up to that moment, had entertained similar views 
to your own respecting his host, regarded this un- 
moving stare of Ki-Ming’s as a sort of kindly, be- 
cause silent, reprimand. The behavior of the un- ] 
happy Li very speedily served to disabuse his mind ' 
of that delusion. 

“ Petrie — the man grew livid, his whole body 
began to twitch and shake as though an ague had 
attacked him ; and his eyes protruded hideously from 
their sockets ! M. Sokoloff assured me that he felt 
himself turning pale — when Ki-Ming, very slowly, 
raised his right hand and pointed to the pond. 

“ Li began to pant as though engaged in a life and 
death struggle with a physically superior antagonist. 
He clutched at the posts of the loggia with frenzied 
hands and a bloody froth came to his lips. He be- 
gan to move backward, step by step, step by step, 
all the time striving, with might and main, to prevent 
himself from doing so ! His eyes were set rigidly 
upon Ki-Ming, like the eyes of a rabbit fascinated 
by a python. Ki-Ming continued to point. 

“ Right to the brink of the lake the man retreated, 
and there, for one dreadful moment, he paused and 
uttered a sort of groaning sob. Then, clenching his 
fists frenziedly, he stepped back into the water and 
immediately sank among the lilies. Ki-Ming con- 
tinued to gaze fixedly — at the spot where bubbles 


THE MANDARIN KI-MING 


207 


were rising; and presently up came the livid face of 
the drowning man, still having those glazed eyes 
turned, immovably, upon the mandarin. For nearly 
five seconds that hideous, distorted face gazed from 
amid the mass of blooms, then it sank again . . . 
i and rose no more.” 

“ What ! ” I cried, “ do you mean to tell me ” 

‘‘ Ki-Ming struck a gong. Another servant ap- 
peared with a fresh bowl of water; and the mandarin 
calmly resumed his dinner ! ” 

I drew a deep breath and raised my hand to my 
head. 

“ It is almost unbelievable,” I said. “ But what 
completely passes my comprehension is his allowing 
me to depart unscathed, having once held me in his 
power. Why the long harangue and the pose of 
friendship?” 

“ That point is not so difficult.” 

“ What!” 

“ That does not surprise me in the least. You 
may recollect that Dr. Fu-Manchu entertains for you 
an undoubted affection, distinctly Chinese in its 
character, but nevertheless an affection! There is 
no intention of assassinating you, Petrie; / am the 
selected victim.” 

I started up. 

“Smith! what do you mean? What danger, 
other than that which has threatened us for over two 
years, threatens us to-night? ” 


208 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


“ Now you come to the point which does puzzle 
me. I believe I stated awhile ago that I was afraid. 
You have placed your finger upon the cause of my 
fear. What threatens us to-night? ” 

He spoke the words in such a fashion that they 
seemed physically to chill me. The shadows of the 
room grew menacing; the very silence became hor- 
rible. I longed with a terrible longing for company, 
for the strength that is in numbers; I would have 
had the place full to overflowing — for it seemed 
that we two, condemned by the mysterious organiza- 
tion called the Si-Fan, were at that moment sur- 
rounded by the entire arsenal of horrors at the 
command of Dr. Fu-Manchu. I broke that morbid 
silence. My voice had assumed an unnatural tone. 

“ Why do you dread this man, Ki-Ming, so 
much? ” 

“ Because he must be aware that I know he is in 
London.” 

“Well?” 

“ Dr. Fu-Manchu has no official status. Long 
ago, his Legation denied all knowledge of his exist- 
ence. But the mandarin Ki-Ming is known to every 
diplomat in Europe, Asia and America almost. 
Only I, and now yourself, know that he is a high 
official of the Si-Fan; Ki-Ming is aware that I know. 
Why, therefore, does he risk his neck in Lon- 
don?” 

“ He relies upon his national cunning.” 

“ Petrie, he is aware that I hold evidence to hang 


THE MANDARIN KI-MING 


209 


Elm, either here or in China! He relies upon one 
thing; upon striking first and striking surely. Why 
is he so confident? I do not know. Therefore I 
am afraid.” 

Again a cold shudder ran icily through me. A 
piece of coal dropped lower into the dying fire — 
and my heart leapt wildly. Then, in a flash, I re- 
membered something. 

“ Smith I ” I cried, “ the letter I We have not 
looked at the letter.” 

Nayland Smith laid his pipe upon the mantel- 
piece and smiled grimly. From his pocket he took 
out a square piece of paper, and thrust it close under 
my eyes. 

“ I remembered it as I passed your borrowed 
garments — which bear no maker’s name — on my 
way to the bedroom for matches,” he said. 

The paper was covered with Chinese characters! 

“What does it mean?” I demanded breath- 
lessly. 

Smith uttered a short, mirthless laugh. 

“ It states that an attempt of a particularly dan- 
gerous nature is to be made upon my life to-night, 
and it recommends me to guard the door, and ad- 
vises that you watch the window overlooking the 
court, and keep your pistol ready for instant em- 
ployment.” He stared at me oddly. “ How should 
you act in the circumstances, Petrie? ” 

“ I should strongly distrust such advice. Yet — 
what else can we do? ” 


210 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


“ There are several alternatives, but I prefer to 
follow the advice of Ki-Ming.” 

The clock of St. Paul’s chimed the half-hour: 
half-past two. 


CHAPTER XXIX 

LAMA SORCERY 

F rom my post in the chair by the window I 
could see two sides of the court below; that 
immediately opposite, with the entrance to some 
I chambers situated there, and that on the right, with 
the cloisteresque arches beyond which lay a maze of 
old-world passages and stairs whereby one who knew 
the tortuous navigation might come ultimately to 
the Embankment. 

It was this side of the court which lay in deepest 
shadow. By altering my position quite slightly I 
could command a view of the arched entrance on the 
left with its pale lamp in an iron bracket above, and 
of the high blank wall whose otherwise unbroken 
expanse it interrupted. All was very still; only on 
occasions the passing of a vehicle along Fleet Street 
would break the silence. 

The nature of the danger that threatened I was 
wholly unable to surmise. Since, my pistol on the 
table beside me, I sat on guard at the window, and 
Smith, also armed, watched the outer door, it was 
not apparent by what agency the shadowy enemy 
could hope to come at us. 

2II 


212 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


Something strange I had detected in Nayland 
Smith’s manner, however, which had induced me 
to believe that he suspected, if he did not know, 
what form of menace hung over us in the darkness. 
One thing in particular was puzzling me extremely: 
if Smith doubted the good faith of the sender of the 
message, why had he acted upon it? 

Thus my mind worked — in endless and profitless 
cycles — whilst my eyes were ever searching the 
shadows below me. 

And, as I watched, wondering vaguely why Smith 
at his post was so silent, presently I became aware 
of the presence of a slim figure over by the arches on 
the right. This discovery did not come suddenly, 
nor did it surprise me; I merely observed without 
being conscious of any great interest in the matter, 
that some one was standing in the court below, look- 
ing up at me where I sat. 

I cannot hope to explain my state of mind at that 
moment, to render understandable by contrast with 
the cold fear which had visited me so recently, the 
utter apathy of my mental attitude. To this day I 
cannot recapture the mood — and for a very good 
reason, though one that was not apparent to me at 
the time. 

It was the Eurasian girl Zarmi, who was standing 
there, looking up at the window 1 Silently I watched 
her. Why was I silent? — why did I not warn 
Smith of the presence of one of Dr. Fu-Manchu’s 
servants? I cannot explain, although, later, the 


LAMA SORCERY 


213 

strangeness of my behavior may become in some 
measure understandable. 

Zarmi raised her hand, beckoning to me, then 
stepped back, revealing the presence of a com- 
panion, hitherto masked by the dense shadows that 
lay under the arches. This second v/atcher moved 
slowly forward, and I perceived him to be none 
other than the mandarin Ki-Ming. 

This I noted with interest, but with a sort of 
impersonal interest, as I might have watched the 
entrance of a character upon the stage of a theater. 
Despite the feeble light, I could see his benign 
countenance very clearly; but, far from being 
excited, a dreamy contentment possessed me ; I 
actually found myself hoping that Smith would not 
intrude upon my reverie ! 

What a fascinating pageant it had been — the Fu- 
Manchu drama — from the moment that I had first 
set eyes upon the Yellow doctor. Again I seemed 
to be enacting my part in that scene, two years ago 
and more, when I had burst into the bare room 
above Shen-Yan’s opium den and had stood face to 
face with Dr. Fu-Manchu. He wore a plain yellow 
robe, its hue almost identical with that of his gaunt, 
hairless face; his elbows rested upon the dirty 
table and his pointed chin upon his long, bony hands. 

Into those uncanny eyes I stared, those eyes, long, 
narrow, and slightly oblique, their brilliant, catlike 
greenness sometimes horribly filmed, like the eyes of 
some grotesque bird. . . . 


214 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Thus it began; and from this point I was carried 
on, step by step, through every episode, great and 
small. It was such a retrospect as passes through 
the mind of one drowning. 

With a vividness that was terrible yet exquisite, 
I saw Karamaneh, my lost love; I saw her first 
wrapped in a hooded opera-cloak, with her flower- 
like face and glorious dark eyes raised to me; I saw 
her in the gauzy Eastern raiment of a slave-girl, 
and I saw her in the dress of a gipsy. 

Through moments sweet and bitter I lived again, 
through hours of suspense and days of ceaseless 
watching; through the long months of that first 
summer when my unhappy love came to me, and 
on, on, interminably on. For years I lived again 
beneath that ghastly Yellow cloud. I searched 
throughout the land of Egypt for Karamaneh and 
knew once more the sorrow of losing her. Time 
ceased to exist for me. 

Then, at the end of these strenuous years, I came 
at last to my meeting with Ki-Ming in the room with 
the golden door. At this point my visionary 
adventures took a new turn. I sat again upon the 
red-covered couch and listened, half stupefied, to the 
placid speech of the mandarin. Again I came un- 
der the spell of his singular personality, and again, 
closing my eyes, I consented to be led from the 
room. 

But, having crossed the threshold, a sudden awful 
doubt passed through my mind, arrow-like. The 


LAMA SORCERY 


215 


hand that held my arm was bony and clawish; I 
could detect the presence of Incredibly long finger 
nails — nails long as those of some burled vampire 
of the black ages 1 

Choking down a cry of horror, I opened my eyes 

— heedless of the promise given but a few moments 
earlier — and looked into the face of my guide. 

It was Dr. Fu-Manchu! . . . 

Never, dreaming or waking, have I known a sen- 
sation identical with that which now clutched my 
heart; I thought that it must be death. For ages, 
untold ages — aeons longer than the world has known 

— I looked into that still, awful face, into those un- 
natural green eyes. I jerked my hand free from 
the Chinaman’s clutch and sprang back. 

As I did so, I became miraculously translated from 
the threshold of the room with the golden door to 
our chambers in the court adjoining Fleet Street; 
I came Into full possession of my faculties (or 
believed so at the time) ; I realized that I had 
nodded at my post, that I had dreamed a strange 
dream . . . but I realized something else. A 
ghoulish presence was In the room. 

Snatching up my pistol from the table I turned. 
Like some evil jinn of Arabian lore. Dr. Fu-Manchu, 
surrounded by a slight mist, stood looking at me ! 

Instantly I raised the pistol, leveled it steadily at 
the high, dome-like brow — and fired ! There could 
be no possibility of missing at such short range, no 
possibility whatever . . . and in the very instant of 


2i6 the hand of fu-manchu 


pulling the trigger the mist cleared, the lineaments 
of Dr. Fu-Manchu melted magically. This was not 
the Chinese doctor who stood before me, at whose 
skull I still was pointing the deadly little weapon, 
into whose brain I had fired a bullet; it was Nay land 
Smith! 

Ki-Ming, by means of the unholy arts of the 
Lamas of Rache-Churan, had caused me to murder 
my best friend ! 

“Smith!” I whispered huskily — “God forgive 
me, what have I done? What have I done? ” 

I stepped forward to support him ere he fell ; but 
utter oblivion closed down upon me, and I knew no 
more. 

5|e * 

“ He will do quite well now,” said a voice that 
seemed to come from a vast distance. “ The effects 
of the drug will have entirely worn off when he 
wakes, except that there may be nausea, and possibly 
muscular pains for a time. . . .” 

I opened my eyes; they were throbbing agon- 
izingly. I lay in bed, and beside me stood Murdoch 
McCabe, the famous toxicological expert from Char- 
ing Cross Hospital — and Nayland Smith 1 

“ Ah, that’s better 1 ” cried McCabe cheerily. 
“ Here — drink this.” 

I drank from the glass which he raised to my lips. 
I was too weak for speech, too weak for wonder. 
Nayland Smith, his face gray and drawn in the cold 


LAMA SORCERY 


217 


light of early morning, watched me anxiously. 
McCabe, in a matter of fact way that acted upon 
me like a welcome tonic, put several purely medical 
questions, which at first by dint of a great effort, 
but, with ever-increasing ease, I answered. 

“ Yes,” he said musingly at last. “ Of course it 
is all but impossible to speak with certainty, but I 
am disposed to think that you have been drugged 
with some preparation of hashish. The most likely 
is that known in Eastern countries as maagun or 
barshy composed of equal parts of cannabis indica 
and opium, with hellebore and two other constitu- 
ents, which vary according to the purpose which the 
maagun is intended to serve. This renders the sub- 
ject particularly open to subjective hallucinations, 
and a pliable instrument in the hands of a hypnotic 
operator, for instance.” 

“You see, old man?” cried Smith eagerly. 
“ You see?” 

But I shook my head weakly. 

“ I shot you,” I said. “ It is impossible that I 
could have missed.” 

“ Mr. Smith has placed me in possession of the 
facts,” interrupted McCabe, “ and I can outline with 
reasonable certainty what took place. Of course, 
it’s all very amazing, utterly fantastic in fact, but 
I have met with almost parallel cases in Egypt, in 
India, and elsewhere in the East : never in London, 
I’ll confess. You see. Dr. Petrie, you were taken 
into the presence of a very accomplished hypnotist, 


2i8 the hand of FU-MANCHU 


having been previously prepared by a stiff admin- 
istration of maagun. You are doubtless familiar 
with the remarkable experiments in psycho-thera- 
peutics conducted at the Salpetriere in Paris, and 
you will readily understand me when I say that, 
prior to your recovering consciousness in the presence 
of the mandarin Ki-Ming, you had received your 
hypnotic instructions. 

“ These were to be put into execution either at a 
certain time (duly impressed upon your drugged 
mind) or at a given signal. . . 

“ It was a signal,” snapped Smith. “ Ki-Ming 
stood in the court below and looked up at the 
window.” 

“ But / might not have been stationed at the 
window,” I objected. 

“ In that event,” snapped Smith, “ he would have 
spoken, softly, through the raised letter-box of the 
door!” 

“ You immediately resumed your interrupted 
trance,” continued McCabe, “ and by hypnotic sug- 
gestion impressed upon you earlier in the evening, 
you were ingeniously led up to a point at which, 
under what delusion I know not, you fired at Mr. 
Smith. I had the privilege of studying an almost 
parallel case in Simla, where an officer was fatally 
stabbed by his khitmatgar (a most faithful servant) 
acting under the hypnotic promptings of a certain 
fakir whom the officer had been unwise enough to 
chastise. The fakir paid for the crime with his life. 


LAMA SORCERY 


219 

I may add. The khitmatgar shot him, ten minutes 
later.’’ 

“ I had no chance at Ki-Ming,” snapped Smith. 
“ He vanished like a shadow. But he has played 
his big card and lost! Henceforth he is a hunted 
man ; and he knows it I Oh I ” he cried, seeing me 
watching him in bewilderment, “ I suspected some 
Lama trickery, old man, and I stuck closely to the 
arrangements proposed by the mandarin, but kept 
you under careful observation! ” 

“ But, Smith — I shot you ! It was humanly im- 
possible to miss ! ” 

“ I agree. But do you recall the report? ” 

“ Ihe report? I was too dazed, too horrified, by 
the discovery of what I had done. . . .” 

“ There was no report, Petrie. I am not entirely 
a stranger to Indo-Chinese jugglery, and you had a 
very strange look in your eyes. Therefore I took 
the precaution of unloading your Browning! ” 


CHAPTER XXX 


MEDUSA 


EGAL business, connected with the estate of a 



Lu distant relative, deceased, necessitated my sud- 
den departure from London, within twenty-four 
hours of the events just narrated; and at a time when 
London was for me the center of the universe. The 
business being terminated — and in a manner finan- 
cially satisfactory to myself — I discovered that with 
luck I could just catch the fast train back. Amid a 
perfect whirl of hotel porters and taxi-drivers worthy 
of Nayland Smith I departed for the station ... to 
arrive at the entrance to the platform at the exact 
moment that the guard raised his green flag! 

“ Too late, sir! Stand back, if you please! ” 

The ticket-collector at the barrier thrust out his 
arm to stay me. The London express was moving 
from the platform. But my determination to travel 
by that train and by no other over-rode all obstacles ; 
if I missed it, I should be forced to wait until the 
following morning. 

I leapt past the barrier, completely taking the 
man by surprise, and went racing up the platform. 
Many arms were outstretched to detain me, and the 
gray-bearded guard stood fully in my path; but I 
dodged them all, collided with and upset a gigantic 


220 


MEDUSA 


221 


negro who wore a chauffeur’s uniform — and found 
myself level with a first-class compartment; the 
window was open. . 

Amid a chorus of excited voices, I tossed, my bag 
in at the window, leapt upon the footboard and 
turned the handle. Although the entrance to the 
tunnel was perilously near now, I managed to 
wrench the door open and to swing myself into the 
carriage. Then, by means of the strap, I reclosed 
the door in the nick of time, and sank, panting, upon 
the seat. I had a vague impression that the black 
chauffeur, having recovered himself, had raced after 
me to the uttermost point of the platform, but, my 
end achieved, I was callously indifferent to the out- 
rageous means thereto which I had seen fit to employ. 
The express dashed into the tunnel. I uttered a 
great sigh of relief. 

With Karamaneh in the hands of the Si-Fan, this 
journey to the north had indeed been undertaken 
with the utmost reluctance. Nayland Smith had 
written to me once during my brief absence, and his 
letter had inspired a yet keener desire to be back 
and at grips with the Yellow group; for he had 
hinted broadly that a tangible clue to the where- 
abouts of the Si-Fan head-quarters had at last been 
secured. 

Now I learnt that I had a traveling companion — 
a woman. She was seated in the further, opposite 
corner, wore a long, loose motor-coat, which could 
not altogether conceal the fine lines of her lithe fig- 


222 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


ure, and a thick veil hid her face. A motive for the 
excited behavior of the negro chauffeur suggested 
itself to my mind; a label, “ Engaged,” was pasted 
to the window ! 

I glanced across the compartment. Through the 
closely woven veil the woman was watching me. 
An apology clearly was called for. 

“ Madame,” I said, “ I hope you will forgive this 
unfortunate intrusion; but it was vitally important 
that I should not miss the London train.” 

She bowed, very slightly, very coldly — and turned 
her head aside. 

The rebuff was as unmistakable as my offense was 
irremediable. Nor did I feel justified in resenting it. 
Therefore, endeavoring to dismiss the matter from 
my mind, I placed my bag upon the rack, and un- 
folding the newspaper with which I was provided, 
tried to interest myself in the doings of the world at 
large. 

My attempt proved not altogether successful; 
strive how I would, my thoughts persistently re- 
verted to the Si-Fan, the evil, secret society who held 
in their power one dearer to me than all the rest of 
the world; to Dr. Fu-Manchu, the genius who darkly 
controlled my destiny; and to Nayland Smith, the 
barrier between the White races and the devouring 
tide of the Yellow. 

Sighing again, involuntarily, I glanced up ... to 
meet the gaze of a pair of wonderful eyes. 

Never, in my experience, had I seen their like. 


MEDUSA 


223 


The dark eyes of Karamaneh were wonderful and 
beautiful, the eyes of Dr. Fu-Manchu sinister and 
wholly unforgettable; but the eyes of this woman 
who was to be my traveling companion to London 
were incredible. Their glance was all but insup- 
portable; they were the eyes of a Medusa! 

Since I had met, in the not distant past, the soft 
gaze of Ki-Ming, the mandarin whose phenomenal 
hypnotic powers rendered him capable of transcend- 
ing the achievements of the celebrated Cagliostro, I 
knew much of the power of the human eye. But 
these were unlike any human eyes I had ever known. 

Long, almond-shaped, bordered by heavy jet- 
black lashes, arched over by finely penciled brows, 
their strange brilliancy, as of a fire within, was 
utterly uncanny. They were the eyes of some beau- 
tiful wild creature rather than those of a woman. 

Their possessor had now thrown back her motor- 
veil, revealing a face Orientally dark and perfectly 
oval, with a clustering mass of dull gold hair, small, 
aquiline nose, and full, red lips. Her weird eyes 
met mine for an instant, and then the long lashes 
drooped quickly, as she leant back against the 
cushions, with a graceful languor suggestive of the 
East rather than of the West. 

Her long coat had fallen partly open, and I saw, 
with surprise, that it was lined with leopard-skin. 
One hand was ungloved, and lay on the arm-rest — 
a slim hand of the hue of old ivory, with a strange, 
ancient ring upon the index finger. 


224 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

This woman obviously was not a European, and 
I experienced great difficulty in determining with 
what Asiatic nation she could claim kinship. In 
point of fact I had never seen another who remotely 
resembled her; she was a fit employer for the 
gigantic negro with whom I had collided on the plat- 
form. 

I tried to laugh at myself, staring from the window 
at the moon-bathed landscape; but the strange 
personality of my solitary companion would not be 
denied, and I looked quickly in her direction — in 
time to detect her glancing away; in time to experi- 
ence the uncanny fascination of her gaze. 

The long slim hand attracted my attention again, 
the green stone in the ring affording a startling con- 
trast against the dull cream of the skin. 

Whether the woman’s personality, or a vague per- 
fume of which I became aware, were responsible, I 
found myself thinking of a flower-bedecked shrine, 
wherefrom arose the smoke of incense to some pagan 
god. 

In vain I told myself that my frame of mind was 
contemptible, that I should be ashamed of such weak- 
ness. Station after station was left behind, as the 
express sped through moonlit England towards the 
smoky metropolis. Assured that I was being fur- 
tively watched, I grew more and more uneasy. 

It was with a distinct sense of effort that I with- 
held my gaze, forcing myself to look out of the win- 
dow. When, having reasoned against the mad ideas 


MEDUSA 


225 


that sought to obsess me, I glanced again across the 
compartment, I perceived, with inexpressible relief, 
that my companion had lowered her veil. 

She kept it lowered throughout the remainder of 
the journey; yet during the hour that ensued I con- 
tinued to experience sensations of which I have never 
since been able to think without a thrill of fear. It 
seemed that I had thrust myself, not into a common- 
place railway compartment, but into a Cumaean 
cavern. 

If only I could have addressed this utterly myste- 
rious stranger, have uttered some word of common- 
place, I felt that the spell might have been broken. 
But, for some occult reason, in no way associated 
with my first rebuff, I found myself tongue-tied; I 
sustained, for an hour (the longest I had ever 
known), a silent watch and ward over my reason; I 
seemed to be repelling, fighting against, some subtle 
power that sought to flood my brain, swamp my in- 
dividuality, and enslave me to another’s will. 

In what degree this was actual, and in what due 
to a mind overwrought from endless conflict with 
the Yellow group, I know not to this day, but you 
who read these records of our giant struggle with 
Fu-Manchu and his satellites shall presently judge 
for yourselves. 

When, at last, the brakes were applied, and the 
pillars and platforms of the great terminus glided 
into view, how welcome was the smoky glare, how 
welcome the muffled roar of busy London I 


2 26 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


A huge negro — the double of the man I had over- 
thrown — opened the door of the compartment, 
bestowing upon me a glance in which enmity and 
amazement were oddly blended, and the woman, 
drawing the cloak about her graceful figure, stood 
up composedly. 

She reached for a small leather case on the rack, 
and her loose sleeve fell back, to reveal a bare arm 
— soft, perfectly molded, of the even hue of old 
ivory. Just below the elbow a strange-looking 
snake bangle clasped the warm-flesh; the eyes, dull 
green, seemed to hold a slumbering fire — a spark of 
living light. 

Then — she was gone ! 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” I muttered, and felt like an- 
other Dante emerging from the Hades. 

As I passed out of the station, I had a fleeting 
glimpse of a gray figure stepping into a big car, 
driven by a black chauffeur. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE MARMOSET 

H ALF-PAST twelve was striking as I came out 
of the terminus, buttoning up my overcoat, 
and pulling my soft hat firmly down upon my head, 
started to walk to Hyde Park Corner. 

I had declined the services of the several taxi- 
drivers who had accosted me and had determined to 
walk a part of the distance homeward, in order to 
check the fever of excitement which consumed me. 

Already I was ashamed of the strange fears which 
had been mine during the journey, but I wanted to 
reflect, to conquer my mood, and the midnight soli- 
tude of the land of Squares which lay between me 
and Hyde Park appealed quite irresistibly. 

There is a distinct pleasure to be derived from a 
solitary walk through London, in the small hours 
of an April morning, provided one is so situated as 
to be capable of enjoying it. To appreciate the 
solitude and mystery of the sleeping city, a certain 
sense of prosperity — a knowledge that one is im- 
mune from the necessity of being abroad at that 
hour — is requisite. The tramp, the night police- 
man and the coffee-stall keeper know more of Lon- 
don by night than most people — but of the romance 
227 


22 8 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


of the dark hours they know little. Romance suc- 
cumbs before necessity. 

I had good reason to be keenly alive to the aroma 
of mystery which pervades the most commonplace 
thoroughfare after the hum of the traffic has sub- 
sided — when the rare pedestrian and the rarer cab 
alone traverse the deserted highway. With more 
intimate cares seeking to claim my mind, it was 
good to tramp along the echoing, empty streets and 
to indulge in imaginative speculations regarding the 
strange things that night must shroud in every big 
city. I have known the solitude of deserts, but the 
solitude of London is equally fascinating. 

He whose business or pleasure has led him to 
traverse the route which was mine on this memor- 
able night must have observed how each of the 
squares composing that residential chain which links 
the outer with the inner Society has a popular and 
an exclusive side. The angle used by vehicular 
traffic in crossing the square from corner to corner 
invariably is rich in a crop of black boards bearing 
house-agents’ announcements. 

In the shadow of such a board I paused, taking 
out my case and leisurely selecting a cigar. So many 
of the houses in the southwest angle were unoccu- 
pied,* that I found myself taking quite an interest in 
one a little way ahead ; from the hall door and from 
the long conservatory over the porch light streamed 
out. 

Excepting these illuminations, there was no light 


THE MARMOSET 


229 

elsewhere in the square to show which houses were 
inhabited and which vacant. I might have stood in 
a street of Pompeii or Thebes — a street of the dead 
past. I permitted my imagination to dwell upon 
this idea as I fumbled for matches and gazed about 
me. I wondered if a day would come when some 
savant of a future land, in a future age, should stand 
where I stood and endeavor to reconstruct, from 
the crumbling ruins, this typical London square. A 
slight breeze set the hatchet-board creaking above 
my head, as I held my gloved hands about the pine- 
vesta. 

At that moment some one or something whistled 
close beside me ! 

I turned, in a flash, dropping the match upon the 
pavement. There was no lamp near the spot 
whereat I stood, and the gateway and porch of the 
deserted residence seemed to be empty. I stood 
there peering in the direction from which the mys- 
terious whistle had come. 

The drone of a taxicab, approaching from the 
north, increased in volume, as the vehicle came spin- 
ning around the angle of the square, passed me, and 
went droning on its way. I watched it swing around 
the distant corner . . . and, in the new stillness, the 
whistle was repeated I 

This time the sound chilled me. The whistle was 
pitched in a curious, unhuman key, and it possessed 
a mocking note that was strangely uncanny. 

Listening intently and peering towards the porch 


230 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

of the empty house, I struck a second match, 
pushed the iron gate open and made for the steps, 
sheltering the feeble flame with upraised hand. As 
I did so, the whistle was again repeated, but from 
some spot further away, to the left of the porch, and 
from low down upon the ground. 

Just as I glimpsed something moving under the 
lee of the porch, the match was blown out, for I was 
hampered by the handbag which I carried. Thus 
reminded of its presence, however, I recollected that 
my pocket-lamp was in it. Quickly opening the 
bag, I took out the lamp, and, passing around the 
corner of the steps, directed a ray of light into the 
narrow passage which communicated with the rear 
of the building. 

Half-way along the passage, looking back at me 
over its shoulder, and whistling angrily, was a little 
marmoset ! 

I pulled up as sharply as though the point of a 
sword had been held at my throat. One marmoset 
is sufficiently like another to deceive the ordinary 
observer, but unless I was permitting a not unnatural 
prejudice to influence my opinion, this particular 
specimen was the pet of Dr. Fu-Manchu ! 

Excitement, not untinged with fear, began to grow 
up within me. Hyde Park was no far cry, this was 
near to the heart of social London; yet, somewhere 
close at hand, it might be, watching me as I stood — 
lurked, perhaps, the great and evil being who 
dreamed of overthrowing the entire white race I 


THE MARMOSET 


231 


With a grotesque grimace and a final, chattering 
whistle, the little creature leapt away out of the 
beam of light cast by my lamp. Its sudden disap- 
pearance brought me to my senses and reminded 
me of my plain duty. I set off along the passage 
briskly, arrived at a small, square yard . . . and 
was just in time to see the ape leap into a well-like 
opening before a basement window. I stepped to 
the brink, directing the light down into the well. 

I saw a collection of rotten leaves, waste paper, 
and miscellaneous rubbish — but the marmoset was 
not visible. Then I perceived that practically all 
the glass in the window had been broken. A sound 
of shrill chattering reached me from the blackness 
of the underground apartment. 

Again I hesitated. What did the darkness mask? 

The note of a distant motor-horn rose clearly 
above the vague throbbing which is the only silence 
known to the town-dweller. 

Gripping the unlighted cigar between my teeth, 
I placed my bag upon the ground and dropped into 
the well before the broken window. To raise the 
sash v/as a simple matter, and, having accomplished 
it, I inspected the room within. 

The light showed a large kitchen, with torn wall- 
paper and decorators’ litter strewn about the floor, 
a whitewash pail in one corner, and nothing else. 

I climbed in, and, taking from my pocket the 
Browning pistol without which I had never traveled 
since the return of the dreadful Chinaman to Eng- 


232 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

land, I crossed to the door, which was ajar, and 
looked out into the passage beyond. 

Stifling an exclamation, I fell back a step. Two 
gleaming eyes stared straightly into mine 1 

The next moment I had forced a laugh to my lips 
. . . as the marmoset turned and went gambolling 
up the stairs. The house was profoundly silent. 1 
crossed the passage and followed the creature, which 
now was proceeding, I thought, with more of a set 
purpose. 

Out into a spacious and deserted hallway it led 
me, where my cautious footsteps echoed eerily, and 
ghostly faces seemed to peer down upon me from the 
galleries above. I should have liked to have un- 
barred the street door, in order to have opened a safe 
line of retreat in the event of its being required, but 
the marmoset suddenly sprang up the main stairway 
at a great speed, and went racing around the gallery 
overhead toward the front of the house. 

Determined, if possible, to keep the creature in 
view, I started in pursuit. Up the uncarpeted stairs 
I went, and, from the rail of the landing, looked 
down into the blackness of the hallway apprehen- 
sively. Nothing stirred below. The marmoset had 
disappeared between the half-opened leaves of a 
large folding door. Casting the beam of light ahead 
of me I followed. I found myself in a long, lofty 
apartment, evidently a drawing-room. 

Of the quarry I could detect no sign; but the 
only other door of the room was closed; therefore. 


THE MARMOSET 


233 


since the creature had entered, it must, I argued, 
undoubtedly be concealed somewhere in the apart- 
ment. Flashing the light about to right and left, I 
presently perceived that a conservatory (no doubt 
facing on the square) ran parallel with one side of 
the room. French windows gave access to either 
end of it; and it was through one of these, which 
was slightly open, that the questioning ray had in- 
truded. 

I stepped into the conservatory. Linen blinds 
covered the windows, but a faint light from outside 
found access to the bare, tiled apartment. Ten 
paces on my right, from an aperture once closed by 
a square wooden panel that now lay upon the floor, 
the marmoset was grimacing at me. 

Realizing that the ray of my lamp must be visible 
through the blinds from outside, I extinguished it 
. . . and, a moving silhouette against a faintly 
luminous square, I could clearly distinguish the 
marmoset watching me. 

There was a light in the room beyond I 

The marmoset disappeared — and I became 
aware of a faint, incense-like perfume. Where had 
I met with it before? Nothing disturbed the silence 
of the empty house wherein I stood; yet I hesitated 
for several seconds to pursue the chase further. 
The realization came to me that the hole in the wall 
communicated with the conservatory of the corner 
house in the square, the house with the lighted 
windows. 


234 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

Determined to see the thing through, I discarded 
my overcoat — and crawled through the gap. The 
smell of burning perfume became almost over- 
powering, as I stood upright, to find myself almost 
touching curtains of some semi-transparent golden 
fabric draped in the door between the conservatory 
and the drawing-room. 

Cautiously, inch by inch, I approached my eyes to 
the slight gap in the draperies, as, from somewhere 
in the house below, sounded the clangor of a brazen 
gong. Seven times its ominous note boomed out. 
I shrank back into my sanctuary; the incense seemed 
to be stifling me. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


SHRINE OF SEVEN LAMPS 

N ever can I forget that nightmare apartment, 
that efreet’s hall. It was identical in shape 
with the room of the adjoining house through which 
I had come, but its walls were draped in somber 
black and a dead black carpet covered the entire 
floor. A golden curtain — similar to that which 
concealed me — broke the somber expanse of the 
end wall to my right, and the door directly opposite 
my hiding-place was closed. 

Across the gold curtain, wrought in glittering 
black, were seven characters, apparently Chinese; 
before it, supported upon seven ebony pedestals, 
burned seven golden lamps ; whilst, dotted about the 
black carpet, were seven gold-lacquered stools, each 
having a black cushion set before it. There was no 
sign of the marmoset; the incredible room of black 
and gold was quite empty, with a sort of stark empti- 
ness that seemed to oppress my soul. 

Close upon the booming of the gong followed a 
sound of many footsteps and a buzz of subdued 
conversation. Keeping well back in the welcome 
shadows I watched, with bated breath, the opening 
of the door immediately opposite. 

235 


236 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

The outer sides of its leaves proved to be of gold, 
and one glimpse of the room beyond awoke a latent 
memory and gave it positive form. I had been in 
this house before ; it was in that room with the 
golden door that I had had my memorable interview 
with the mandarin Ki-Ming! My excitement grew 
more and more intense. 

Singly, and in small groups, a number of Orientals 
came in. All wore European, or semi-European 
garments, but I was enabled to identify two for 
Chinamen, two for Hindus and three for Burmans. 
Other Asiatics there were, also, whose exact place 
among the Eastern races I could not determine; 
there was at least one Egyptian and there were sev- 
eral Eurasians; no women were present. 

Standing grouped just within the open door, the 
gathering of Orientals kept up a ceaseless buzz of 
subdued conversation; then, abruptly, stark silence 
fell, and through a lane of bowed heads, Ki-Ming, 
the famous Chinese diplomat, entered, smiling 
blandly, and took his seat upon one of the seven 
golden stools. He wore the picturesque yellow robe, 
trimmed with marten fur, which I had seen once 
before, and he placed his pearl-encircled cap, sur- 
mounted by the coral ball denoting his rank, upon 
the black cushion beside him. 

Almost immediately afterwards entered a second 
and even more striking figure. It was that of a 
Lama monk I He was received with the same marks 
of deference which had been accorded the mandarin; 


SHRINE OF SEVEN LAMPS 237 

j and he seated himself upon another of the golden 
stools. 

Silence, a moment of hushed expectancy, and 
1 . . . yellow-robed, immobile, his wonderful, evil 
face emaciated by illness, but his long, magnetic eyes 
blazing greenly, as though not a soul but an elemen- 
tal spirit dwelt within that gaunt, high-shouldered 
I body. Dr. Fu-Manchu entered, slowly, leaning upon 
i a heavy stick I 

The realities seemed to be slipping from me; I 
I could not believe that I looked upon a material 
' world. This had been a night of wonders, having 
i no place in the life of a sane, modern man, but be- 
! longing to the days of the jinn and the Arabian 
I necromancers. 

Fu-Manchu was greeted by a universal raising of 
hands, but in complete silence. He also wore a cap 
surmounted by a coral ball, and this he placed upon 
one of the black cushions set before a golden stool. 
Then, resting heavily upon his stick, he began to 
speak — in French ! 

As one listens to a dream-voice, I listened to that, 
alternately guttural and sibilant, of the terrible 
Chinese doctor. He was defending himself ! With 
what he was charged by his sinister brethren I knew 
not nor could I gather from his words, but that he 
was rendering account of his stewardship became 
unmistakable. Scarce crediting my senses, I heard 
him unfold to his listeners details of crimes success- 
fully perpetrated, and with the results of some of 


238 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

these I was but too familiar; others there were in 
the ghastly catalogue which had been accomplished 
secretly. Then my blood froze with horror. My 
own name was mentioned — and that of Nayland 
Smith I We two stood in the way of the coming of 
one whom he called the Lady of the Si-Fan, in the 
way of Asiatic supremacy. 

A fantastic legend once mentioned to me by 
Smith, of some woman cherished in a secret fastness 
of Hindustan who was destined one day to rule the 
world, now appeared, to my benumbed senses, to be 
the unquestioned creed of the murderous, cosmopoli- 
tan group known as the Si-Fan I At every mention 
of her name all heads were bowed in reverence. 

Dr. Fu-Manchu spoke without the slightest trace 
of excitement; he assured his auditors of his fidelity 
to their cause and proposed to prove to them that 
he enjoyed the complete confidence of the Lady of 
the Si-Fan. 

And with every moment that passed the giant 
intellect of the speaker became more and more 
apparent. Years ago Nayland Smith had assured 
me that Dr. Fu-Manchu was a linguist who spoke 
with almost equal facility in any of the civilized 
languages and in most of the barbaric; now the truth 
of this was demonstrated. For, following some 
passage which might be susceptible of misconstruc- 
tion, Fu-Manchu would turn slightly, and elucidate 
his remarks, addressing a Chinaman in Chinese, a 
Hindu in Hindustanee, or an Egyptian in Arabic. 


SHRINE OF SEVEN LAMPS 


239 


His auditors were swayed by the magnetic per- 
sonality of the speaker, as reeds by a breeze; and 
now I became aware of a curious circumstance. 
Either because they and I viewed the character of 
this great and evil man from a widely dissimilar 
aspect, or because, my presence being unknown to 
him, I remained outside the radius of his power, it 
seemed to me that these members of the evidently 
vast organization known as the Si-Fan were dupes, 
to a man, of the Chinese orator! It seemed to me 
that he used them as an instrument, playing upon 
their obvious fanaticism, string by string, as a player 
upon an Eastern harp, and all the time weaving 
harmonies to suit some giant, incredible scheme of 
his own — a scheme over and beyond any of which 
they had dreamed, in the fruition whereof they had 
no part — of the true nature and composition of 
which they had no comprehension. 

“ Not since the day of the first Yuan Emperor,” 
said Fu-Manchu sibilantly, “ has Our Lady of the 
Si-Fan — to look upon whom, unveiled, is death — 
crossed the sacred borders. To-day I am a man 
supremely happy and honored above my deserts. 
You shall all partake with me of that happiness, 
that honor. . . 

Again the gong sounded seven times, and a sort 
of magnetic thrill seemed to pass throughout the 
room. There followed a faint, musical sound, like 
the tinkle of a silver bell. 

All heads were lowered, but all eyes upturned to 


240 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

the golden curtain. Literally holding my breath, 
in those moments of intense expectancy, I watched 
the draperies parted from the center and pulled 
aside by unseen agency. 

"A black covered dais was revealed, bearing an 
ebony chair. And seated in the chair, enveloped 
from head to feet in a shimmering white veil, was a 
woman. A sound like a great sigh arose from the 
gathering. The woman rose slowly to her feet, and 
raised her arms, which were exquisitely formed, and 
of the uniform hue of old ivory, so that the veil fell 
back to her shoulders, revealing the green snake 
bangle which she wore. She extended her long, 
slim hands as if in benediction; the silver bell 
sounded . . . and the curtain dropped again, en- 
tirely obscuring the dais ! 

Frankly, I thought myself mad; for this “lady 
of the Si-Fan ” was none other than my mysterious 
traveling companion! This was some solemn farce 
with which Fu-Manchu sought to impress his fan- 
atical dupes. And he had succeeded; they were 
inspired, their eyes blazed. Here were men capable 
of any crime in the name of the Si-Fan! 

Every face within my ken I had studied indi- 
vidually, and now slowly and cautiously I changed 
my position, so that a group of three members stand- 
ing immediately to the right of the door came into 
view. One of them — a tall, spare, and closely 
bearded man whom I took for some kind of Hindu 
— had removed his gaze from the dais and was 


SHRINE OF SEVEN LAMPS 


241 


glancing furtively all about him. Once he looked in 
my direction, and my heart leapt high, then seemed 
to stop its pulsing. 

An overpowering consciousness of my danger came 
to me; a dim envisioning of what appalling fate 
would be mine in the event of discovery. As those 
piercing eyes were turned away again, I drew back, 
step by step. 

Dropping upon my knees, I began to feel for the 
gap in the conservatory wall. The desire to depart 
from the house of the Si-Fan was become urgent. 
Once safely away, I could take the necessary steps 
to ensure the apprehension of the entire group. 
What a triumph would be mine ! 

I found the opening without much difficulty and 
crept through into the empty house. The vague 
light which penetrated the linen blinds served to 
show me the length of the empty, tiled apartments. 
I had actually reached the French window giving 
access to the drawing-room, when — the skirl of a 
police whistle split the stillness . . . and the sound 
came from the house which I had just quitted ! 

To write that I was amazed were to achieve the 
banal. Rigid with wonderment I stood, and 
clutched at the open window. So I was standing, 
a man of stone, when the voice, the high-pitched, 
imperious, unmistakable voice of Nayland Smith, 
followed sharply upon the skirl of the whistle : — 

“Watch those French windows, Weymouth! I 
can hold the door I ” 


242 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Like a lightning flash it came to me that the tall 
Hindu had been none other than Smith disguised. 
From the square outside came a sudden turmoil, a 
sound of racing feet, of smashing glass, of doors 
burst forcibly open. Palpably, the place was sur- 
rounded; this was an organized raid. 

Irresolute, I stood there in the semi-gloom — in- 
active from amaze of it all — whilst sounds of a tre- 
mendous struggle proceeded from the square gap in 
the partition. 

“ Lights! ” rose a cry, in Smith’s voice again — 
“ they have cut the wires 1 ” 

At that I came to my senses. Plunging my hand 
into my pocket, I snatched out the electric lamp 
. . . and stepped back quickly into the utter gloom 
of the room behind me. 

Some one was crawling through the aperture into 
the conservatory ! 

As I watched I saw him, in the dim light, stoop 
to replace the movable panel. Then, tapping upon 
the tiled floor as he walked, the fugitive approached 
me. He was but three paces from the French win- 
dow when I pressed the button of my lamp and 
directed its ray fully upon his face. 

“ Hands up ! ” I said breathlessly. “ I have you 
covered, Dr. Fu-Manchu ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


AN ANTI-CLIMAX 

O NE hour later I stood in the entrance hall of 
our chambers in the court adjoining Fleet 
Street. Some one who had come racing up the 
stairs, now had inserted a key in the lock. Open 
swung the door — and Nayland Smith entered, in 
a perfect whirl of excitement. 

“ Petrie I Petrie I ” he cried, and seized both my 
hands — “ you have missed a night of nights ! Man 
alive ! we have the whole gang — the great Ki-Ming 
included!” His eyes were blazing. “Weymouth 
has made no fewer than twenty-five arrests, some 
of the prisoners being well-known Orientals. It 
will be the devil’s own work to keep it all quiet, but 
Scotland Yard has already advised the Press.” 

“ Congratulations, old man,” I said, and looked 
him squarely in the eyes. 

Something there must have been in my glance at 
variance with the spoken words. His expression 
changed; he grasped my shoulder. 

“ She was not there,” he said, “ but, please God, 
we’ll find her now. It’s only a question of time.” 
But, even as he spoke, the old, haunted look was 
243 


244 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

creeping back into the lean face. He gave me a 
rapid glance ; then : — 

“ I might as well make a clean breast of it,” 
he rapped. “ Fu-Manchu escaped ! Furthermore, 
when we got lights, the woman had vanished, too.” 

“ The woman! ” 

“ There was a woman at this strange gathering, 
Petrie. Heaven only knows who she really is. Ac- 
cording to Fu-Manchu she is that woman of mystery 
concerning whose existence strange stories are cur- 
rent in the East; the future Empress of a universal 
empire ! But of course I decline to accept the story. 
Petrie! if ever the Yellow races overran Europe, I 
am in no doubt respecting the identity of the person 
who would ascend the throne of the world ! ” 

“ Nor I, Smith ! ” I cried excitedly. “ Good God! 
he holds them all in the palm of his hand ! He has 
welded together the fanatics of every creed of the 
East into a giant weapon for his personal use! 
Small wonder that he is so formidable. But, Smith 
— who is that woman? ” 

Nayland Smith was staring at me in blank amaze- 
ment. 

“ Petrie ! ” he said slowly, and I knew that I had 
betrayed my secret, “ Petrie — where did you learn 
all this?” 

I returned his steady gaze. 

“ I was present at the meeting of the Si-Fan,” I 
replied steadily. 

“ What? What? You were present? ” 


AN ANTI-CLIMAX 


245 


“ I was present! Listen, and I will explain.” 

Standing there in the hallway I related, as briefly 
as possible, the astounding events of the night. As 
I told of the woman in the train — 

“ That confirms my impression that Fu-Manchu 
was imposing upon the others! ” he snapped. “ I 
cannot conceive of a woman recluse from some 
Lamaserie, surrounded by silent attendants and 
trained for her exalted destiny in the way that the 
legendary veiled woman of Tibet is said to be trained, 
traveling alone in an English railway carriage ! Did 
you observe, Petrie, if her eyes were oblique at 
all?” 

“ They did not strike me as being oblique. Why 
do you ask? ” 

“ Because I strongly suspect that we have to do 
with none other than Fu-Manchu’s daughter! But 
go on.” 

“ By heavens. Smith! You may be right! I had 
no idea that a Chinese woman could possess such 
features.” 

“ She may not have had a Chinese mother; fur- 
thermore, there are pretty women in China as well as 
in other countries; also, there are hair dyes and 
cosmetics. But for Heaven’s sake go on! ” 

I continued my all but incredible narrative; came 
to the point where I discovered the straying marmoset 
and entered the empty house, without provoking 
any comment from my listener. He stared at me 
with something very like surprised admiration when 


246 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

I related how I had become an unseen spectator of 
that singular meeting. 

“ And I thought I had achieved the triumph of 
my life in gaining admission and smuggling Wey- 
mouth and Carter into the roof, armed with hooks 
and rope-ladders! ” he murmured. 

Now I came to the moment when, having with- 
drawn into the empty house, I had heard the police 
whistle and had heard Smith’s voice; I came to the 
moment when I had found myself face to face with 
Dr. Fu-Manchu. 

Nayland Smith’s eyes were on fire now; he literally 
quivered with excitement, when — 

Ssh! what’s that?” he whispered, and grasped 
my arm. “ I heard something move in the sitting- 
room, Petrie 1 ” 

“ It was a coal dropping from the grate, perhaps,” 
I said — and rapidly continued my story, telling how, 
with my pistol to his head, I had forced the Chinese 
doctor to descend into the hallway of the empty 
house. 

“ Yes, yes,” snapped Smith. “ For God’s sake 
go on, man! What have you done with him? 
Where is he? ” 

I clearly detected a movement myself immediately 
behind the half-open door of the sitting-room. Smith 
started and stared intently across my shoulder at the 
doorway; then his gaze shifted and became fixed 
upon my face. 

“ He bought his life from me, Smith.” 


AN ANTI-CLIMAX 


247 


Never can I forget the change that came over my 
friend’s tanned features at those words; never can I 
forget the pang that I suffered to see it. The fire 
died out of his eyes and he seemed to grow old and 
weary in a moment. None too steadily I went 
on: — 

“ He offered a price that I could not resist, Smith. 
Try to forgive me, if you can. I know that I have 
done a dastardly thing, but — perhaps a day may 
come in your own life when you will understand. 
He descended with me to a cellar under the empty 
house, in which some one was locked. Had I ar- 
rested Fu-Manchu this poor captive must have died 
there of starvation; for no one would ever have 
suspected that the place had an occupant. ...” 

The door of the sitting-room was thrown open, 
and, wearing my great-coat over the bizarre cos- 
tume in which I had found her, with her bare ankles 
and little red slippers peeping grotesquely from be- 
low, and her wonderful cloud of hair rippling over 
the turned-up collar, Karamaneh came out ! 

Her great dark eyes were raised to Nayland 
Smith’s face with such an appeal in them — an ap- 
peal for me — that emotion took me by the throat 
and had me speechless. I could not look at either 
of them; I turned aside and stared into the lighted 
sitting-room. 

How long I stood so God knows, and I never 
shall; but suddenly I found my hand seized in a 
vice-like grip, I looked around . . . and Smith, 


248 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

holding my fingers fast in that iron grasp, had his 
left arm about Karamaneh’s shoulders, and his gray 
eyes were strangely soft, whilst hers were hidden 
behind her upraised hands. 

“ Good old Petrie ! ’’ said Smith hoarsely. 
“ Wake up, man; we have to get her to a hotel be- 
fore they all close, remember. I understand, old 
man. That day came in my life long years ago ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


GRAYWATER PARK 

I AHIS is a singular situation in which we find 
X ourselves,” I said, “ and one that I’m bound 
to admit I don’t appreciate.” 

Nayland Smith stretched his long legs, and lay- 
back in his chair. 

“ The sudden illness of Sir Lionel is certainly very 
disturbing,” he replied, “ and had there been any 
possibility of returning to London to-night, I should 
certainly have availed myself of it, Petrie. I share 
your misgivings. We are intruders at a time like 
this.” 

He stared at me keenly, blowing a wreath of 
smoke from his lips, and then directing his attention 
to the cone of ash which crowned his cigar. I 
glanced, and not for the first time, toward the quaint 
old doorway which gave access to a certain corridor. 
Then — 

“ Apart from the feeling that we intrude,” I con- 
tinued slowly, “ there is a certain sense of unrest.” 

“ Yes,” snapped Smith, sitting suddenly upright 
— “yes! You experience this? Good! You are 
happily sensitive to this type of impression, Petrie, 
249 


250 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

and therefore quite as useful to me as a cat is useful 
to a physical investigator.” 

He laughed in his quick, breezy fashion. 

“You will appreciate my meaning,” he added; 
“ therefore I offer no excuse for the analogy. Of 
course, the circumstances, as we know them, may be 
responsible for this consciousness of unrest. We are 
neither of us likely to forget the attempt upon the 
life of Sir Lionel Barton two years ago or more. 
Our attitude toward sudden illnesses is scarcely that 
of impartial observers.” 

“ I suppose not,” I admitted, glancing yet again at 
the still vacant doorway by the foot ( ^ the stairs, 
which now the twilight was draping in mysterious 
shadows. 

Indeed, our position was a curious one. A wel- 
come invitation from our old friend. Sir Lionel Bar- 
ton, the world-famous explorer, had come at a time 
when a spell of repose, a glimpse of sea and awaken- 
ing countryside, and a breath of fair, untainted air 
were very desirable. The position of Karamaneh, 
who accompanied us, was sufficiently unconventional 
already, but the presence of Mrs. Oram, the digni- 
fied housekeeper, had rendered possible her visit to 
this bachelor establishment. In fact it was largely 
in the interests of the girl’s health that we had ac- 
cepted. 

On our arrival at Graywater Park we had learnt 
that our host had been stricken down an hour earlier 
by sudden illness. The exact nature of his seizure 


GRAYWATER PARK 


251 

I had thus far been unable to learn; but a local 
doctor, who had left the Park barely ten minutes be- 
fore our advent, had strictly forbidden visitors to the 
sick-room. Sir Lionel’s man, Kennedy, who had 
served him in many strange spots of the world, was 
in attendance. 

So much we gathered from Homopoulo, the Greek 
butler (Sir Lionel’s household had ever been ec- 
centric). Furthermore, we learned that there was 
no London train that night and no accommodation 
in the neighboring village. 

“ Sir Lionel urgently requests you to remain,” the 
butler had assured us, in his flawless, monotonous 
English. “ He trusts that you will not be dull, and 
hopes to be able to see you to-morrow and to make 
plans for your entertainment.” 

A ghostly, gray shape glided across the darkened 
hall — and was gone. I started involuntarily. 
Then remote, fearsome, came muted howling to 
echo through the ancient apartments of Graywater 
Park. Nayland Smith laughed. 

“ That was the civet cat, Petrie ! ” he said. “ 1 
was startled, for a moment, until the lamentations 
of the leopard family reminded me of the fact that 
Sir Lionel had transferred his menagerie to Gray- 
water ! ” 

Truly, this was a singular household. In turn, 
Graywater Park had been a fortress, a monastery, 
and a manor-house. Now, in the extensive crypt be- 
low the former chapel, in an atmosphere artificially 


252 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

raised to a suitably stuffy temperature, were housed 
the strange pets brought by our eccentric host from 
distant lands. In one cage was an African lioness, 
a beautiful and powerful beast, docile as a cat. 
Housed under , other arches were two surly hyenas, 
goats from the White Nile, and an antelope of Kor- 
dofan. In a stable opening upon the garden were a 
pair of beautiful desert gazelles, and, near to them, 
two cranes and a marabout. The leopards, whose 
howling now disturbed the night, were in a large, cell- 
like cage immediately below the spot where of old 
the chapel altar had stood. 

And here were we an odd party in odd environ- 
ment. I sought to make out the time by my watch, 
but the growing dusk rendered it impossible. Then, 
unheralded by any sound, Karamaneh entered by 
the door which during the past twenty minutes had 
been the focus of my gaze. The gathering darkness 
precluded the possibility of my observing with cer- 
tainty, but I think a soft blush stole to her cheeks as 
those glorious dark eyes rested upon me. 

The beauty of Karamaneh was not of the type 
which is enhanced by artificial lighting; it was the 
beauty of the palm and the pomegranate blossom, 
the beauty which flowers beneath merciless suns, 
which expands, like the lotus, under the skies of the 
East. But there, in the dusk, as she came towards 
me, she looked exquisitely lovely, and graceful with 
the grace of the desert gazelles which I had seen 


GRAYWATER PARK 


253 

earlier in the evening. I cannot describe her dress; 
I only know that she seemed very wonderful — so 
wonderful that a pang, almost of terror, smote my 
heart, because such sweetness should belong to me. 

And then, from the shadows masking the other side 
of the old hall, emerged the black figure of Homo- 
poulo, and our odd trio obediently paced into the 
somber dining-room. 

A large lamp burned in the center of the table ; a 
shaded candle was placed before each diner; and the 
subdued light made play upon the snowy napery and 
fine old silver without dispersing the gloom about us. 
Indeed, if anything, it seemed to render it the more 
remarkable, and the table became a lighted oasis in 
the desert of the huge apartment. One could barely 
discern the suits of armor and trophies which orna- 
mented the paneled walls; and I never failed to start 
nervously when the butler appeared, somber and 
silent, at my elbow. 

Sir Lionel Barton’s penchant for strange visitors, 
of which we had had experience in the past, was 
exemplified in the person of Homopoulo. I gath- 
ered that the butler (who, I must admit, seemed 
thoroughly to comprehend his duties) had entered 
the service of Sir Lionel during the time that the 
latter was pursuing his celebrated excavations upon 
the traditional site of the Daedalian Labyrinth in 
Crete. It was during this expedition that the death 
of a distant relative had made him master of Gray- 


254 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

water Park; and the event seemingly had inspired 
the eccentric baronet immediately to engage a suit- 
able factotum. 

His usual retinue of Malay footmen, Hindu 
grooms and Chinese cooks, was missing apparently, 
and the rest of the household, including the charm- 
ing old housekeeper, had been at the Park for periods 
varying from five to five-and-twenty years. I must 
admit that I welcomed the fact; my tastes are es- 
sentially insular. 

But the untimely illness of our host had cast a 
shadow upon the party. I found myself speaking in 
a church-whisper, whilst Karamaneh was quite silent. 
That curious dinner party in the shadow desert of 
the huge apartment frequently recurs in my memories 
of those days because of the uncanny happening 
which terminated it. 

Nayland Smith, who palpably had been as ill at 
ease as myself, and who had not escaped the con- 
tagious habit of speaking in a hushed whisper, sud- 
denly began, in a loud and cheery manner, to tell us 
something of the history of Graywater Park, which 
in his methodical way he had looked up. It was a 
desperate revolt, on the part of his strenuous spirit, 
against the phantom of gloom which threatened to 
obsess us all. 

Parts of the house, it appeared, were of very great 
age, although successive owners had added portions. 
There were fascinating traditions connected with the 
place; secret rooms walled up since the Middle Ages, 


GRAYWATER PARK 


25S 


a private stair whose entrance, though undiscover- 
able, was said to be somewhere in the orchard to the 
west of the ancient chapel. It had been built by an 
ancestor of Sir Lionel who had flourished in the 
reign of the eighth Henry. At this point in his 
reminiscences (Smith had an astonishing memory 
where recondite facts were concerned) there came an 
interruption. 

The smooth voice of the butler almost made me 
leap from my chair, as he spoke out of the shadows 
immediately behind me. 

“ The ’45 port, sir,” he said — and proceeded to 
place a crusted bottle upon the table. “ Sir Lionel 
desires me to say that he is with you in spirit and 
that he proposes the health of Dr. Petrie and his 
fiancee, whom he hopes to have the pleasure of meet- 
ing in the morning.” 

Truly it was a singular situation, and I am un- 
likely ever to forget the scene as the three of us 
solemnly rose to our feet and drank our host’s toast, 
thus proposed by proxy, under the eye of Homo- 
poulo, who stood a shadowy figure in the background. 

The ceremony solemnly performed and the gloomy 
butler having departed with a suitable message to 
Sir Lionel — 

“ I was about to tell you,” resumed Nayland 
Smith, with a gaiety palpably forced, “ of the tradi- 
tional ghost of Graywater Park. He is a black clad 
priest, said to be the Spanish chaplain of the owner 
of the Park in the early days of the Reformation. 


256 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Owing to some little misunderstanding with His 
Majesty’s commissioners, this unfortunate church- 
man met with an untimely death, and his shade is 
said to haunt the secret room — the site of which is 
unknown — and to clamor upon the door, and upon 
the walls of the private stair.” 

I thought the subject rather ill chosen, but 
recognized that my friend was talking more or less 
at random and in desperation; indeed, failing his 
reminiscences of Graywater Park, I think the demon 
of silence must have conquered us completely. 

“ Presumably,” I said, unconsciously speaking as 
though I feared the sound of my own voice, “ this 
Spanish priest was confined at some time in the 
famous hidden chamber? ” 

“ He was supposed to know the secret of a hoard 
of church property, and tradition has it, that he was 
put to the question in some gloomy dungeon ...” 

He ceased abruptly; in fact the effect was that 
which must have resulted had the speaker been sud- 
denly stricken down. But the deadly silence which 
ensued was instantly interrupted. My heart seemed 
to be clutched as though by fingers of ice; a stark 
and supernatural horror held me riveted in my chair. 

For as though Nayland Smith’s words had been 
heard by the ghostly inhabitant of Graywater Park^ 
as though the tortured priest sought once more re- 
lease from his age-long sufferings — there came echo- 
ing, hollowly and remotely, as if from a subterranean 
cavern, the sound of knocking. 


GRAYWATER PARK 


257 


From whence it actually proceeded I was wholly 
unable to determine. At one time it seemed to sur- 
round us, as though not one but a hundred prisoners 
were beating upon the paneled walls of the huge, 
ancient apartment. j 

Faintly, so faintly, that I could not be sure if I 
heard aright, there came, too, a stifled cry. Louder 
grew the frantic beating and louder . . . then it 
ceased abruptly. 

“ Merciful God! ” I whispered — “what was it? 
What was it? ” 


^ CHAPTER XXXV 

THE EAST TOWER 

W ITH a cigarette between my lips I sat at the 
open window, looking out upon the skeleton 
trees of the orchard; for the buds of early spring 
were only just beginning to proclaim themselves. 

The idea of sleep was far from my mind. The 
attractive modern furniture of the room could not 
deprive the paneled walls of the musty antiquity 
which was their birthright. This solitary window 
deeply set and overlooking the orchard upon which 
the secret stair was said to open, struck a note of 
more remote antiquity, casting back beyond the 
carousing days of the Stuart monarchs to the 
troublous times of the Middle Ages. 

An air of ghostly evil had seemed to arise like a 
miasma within the house from the moment that we 
had been disturbed by the unaccountable rapping. 
It was at a late hour that we had separated, and 
none of us, I think, welcomed the breaking up of our 
little party. Mrs. Oram, the housekeeper, had been 
closely questioned by Smith — for Homopoulo, as 
a new-comer, could not be expected to know any- 
thing of the history of Graywater Park. The old i 
lady admitted the existence of the tradition which : 
Nayland Smith had in some way unearthed, but as- ' 
258 


THE EAST TOWER 


259 

sured us that never, in her time, had the uneasy spirit 
declared himself. She was ignorant (or like the 
excellent retainer that she was, professed to be 
ignorant) of the location of the historic chamber 
and staircase. 

As for Homopoulo, hitherto so irreproachably 
imperturbable, I had rarely seen a man in such a state 
of passive panic. His dark face was blanched to 
the hue of dirty parchment and his forehead dewed 
with cold perspiration. I mentally predicted an 
early resignation in the household of Sir Lionel Bar- 
ton. Homopoulo might be an excellent butler, but 
his superstitious Greek nature was clearly incapable 
of sustaining existence beneath the same roof with a 
family ghost, hoary though the specter’s antiquity 
might be. 

Where the skeleton shadows of the fruit trees lay 
beneath me on the fresh green turf my fancy per- 
sistently fashioned a black-clad figure flitting from 
tree to tree. Sleep indeed was impossible. Once I 
thought I detected the howling of the distant leop- 
ards. 

Somewhere on the floor above me, Nayland Smith, 
I knew, at that moment would be restlessly pacing 
his room, the exact situation of which I could not 
identify, because of the quaint, rambling passages 
whereby one approached it. It was in regard to 
Karamaneh, however, that my misgivings were the 
keenest. Already her position had been strange 
enough, in those unfamiliar surroundings, but what 


26 o the hand of FU-MANCHU 


tremors must have been hers now in the still watches 
of the night, following the ghostly manifestations 
which had so dramatically interrupted Nayland 
Smith’s story, I dared not imagine. She had been 
alloted an apartment somewhere upon the ground 
floor, and Mrs. Oram, whose motherly interest in 
the girl had touched me deeply, had gone with her to 
her room, where no doubt her presence had done 
much to restore the girl’s courage. 

Graywater Park stood upon a well-wooded slope, 
and, to the southwest, starting above the trees al- 
most like a giant Spanish priest, showed a solitary 
tower. With a vague and indefinite interest I 
watched it. It was Monkswell, an uninhabited place 
belonging to Sir Lionel’s estate and dating, in part,. 
to the days of King John. Flicking the ash from my 
cigarette, I studied the ancient tower, wondering idly 
what deeds had had their setting within its shadows, 
since the Angevin monarch, in whose reign it saw the 
light, had signed Magna Charta. 

This was a perfect night, and very still. Nothing 
stirred, within or without Graywater Park. Yet I 
was conscious of a definite disquietude which I could 
only suppose to be ascribable to the weird events of 
the evening, but which seemed rather to increase 
than to diminish. 

I tossed the end of my cigarette out into the dark- 
ness, determined to turn in, although I had never 
felt more wide awake in my life. One parting glance 
J cast into the skeleton orchard and was on the point 


THE EAST TOWER 


261 


of standing up, when — although no breeze stirred 
— a shower of ivy leaves rained down upon my head ! 

Brushing them away irritably, I looked up — and 
a second shower dropped fully upon my face and 
filled my eyes with dust. I drew back, checking an 
exclamation. What with the depth of the embra- 
sure, due to the great thickness of the wall, and the 
leafy tangle above the window, I could see for no 
great distance up the face of the building; but a faint 
sound of rustling and stumbling which proceeded 
from somewhere above me proclaimed that some one, 
or something, was climbing either up or down the 
wall of the corner tower in which I was housed! 

Partially removing the dust from my smarting 
eyes, I returned to the embrasure, and stepping from 
the chair on to the deep ledge, I grasped the corner 
of the quaint, diamond-paned window, which I had 
opened to its fullest extent, and craned forth. 

Now I could see the ivy-grown battlements sur- 
mounting the tower (the east wing, in which my room 
was situated, was the oldest part of Graywater 
Park). Sharply outlined against the cloudless sky 
they showed . . . and the black silhouette of a 
man’s head and shoulders leant over directly above 
me 1 

I drew back sharply. The climber, I thought, had 
not seen me, although he was evidently peering down 
at my window. What did it mean? 

As I crouched in the embrasure, a sudden giddi- 
ness assailed me, which at first I ascribed to a sym- 


262 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


pathetic nervous action due to having seen the man 
poised there at that dizzy height. But it increased. 
I swayed forward, and clutched at the wall to save 
myself. A deadly nausea overcame me . . . and 
a deadly doubt leapt to my mind. 

In the past, Sir Lionel Barton had had spies in his 
household; what if the dark-faced Greek, Homo- 
poulo, were another of these? I thought of the ’45 
port, of the ghostly rapping; and I thought of the 
man who crouched upon the roof of the tower above 
my open window. 

My symptoms now were unmistakable; my head 
throbbed and my vision grew imperfect; there had 
been an opiate in the wine ! 

I almost fell back into the room. Supporting my- 
self by means of the chair, the chest of drawers, and 
finally, the bed-rail, I got to my grip, and with weak- 
ening fingers, extracted the little medicine-chest which 
was invariably my traveling companion. . . . 

>|C * Hi * * * 

Grimly pitting my will against the drug, but still 
trembling weakly from the result of the treatment, 
internal and subcutaneous, which I had adopted, I 
staggered to the door, out into the corridor and up 
the narrow, winding stairs to Smith’s room. I car- 
ried an electric pocket-lamp, and by its light I found 
my way to the triangular, paneled landing. 

I tried the handle. As I had expected, the door 
was locked. I beat upon it with my fist. 


THE EAST TOWER 


263 


“ Smith! ” I cried — “ Smith! ” 

There was no reply. 

Again I clamored; awaking ancient echoes within 
the rooms and all about me. But nothing moved and 
no answering voice rewarded my efforts; the other 
rooms were seemingly unoccupied, and Smith — ^ was 
drugged ! 

My senses in disorder, and a mist dancing before 
my eyes, I went stumbling down into the lower cor- 
ridor. At the door of my own room I paused; a 
new fact had suddenly been revealed to me, a fact 
which the mazy windings of the corridors had hith- 
erto led me to overlook. Smith’s room was also in 
the east tower, and must be directly above mine ! 

“ My God! ” I whispered, thinking of the climber 
— “ he has been murdered! ” 

I staggered into my room and clutched at the bed- 
rail to support myself, for my legs threatened to col- . 
lapse beneath me. How should I act? That we 
were the victims of a cunning plot, that the deathful 
Si-Fan had at last wreaked its vengeance upon Nay- 
land Smith I could not doubt. 

My brain reeled, and a weakness, mental and 
physical, threatened to conquer me completely. In- 
deed, I think I must have succumbed, sapped as my 
strength had been by the drug administered to me, 
if the sound of a creaking stair had not arrested my 
attention and by the menace which it conveyed af- 
forded a new stimulus. 

Some one was creeping down from the landing 


264 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

above — coming to my room \ The creatures of the 
Yellow doctor, having despatched Nayland Smith, 
were approaching stealthily, stair by stair, to deal 
with me/ 

From my grip I took out the Browning pistol. 
The Chinese doctor’s servants should have a warm 
reception. I burned to avenge my friend, who I 
was persuaded, lay murdered in the room above. I 
partially closed the door and took up a post im- 
mediately behind it. Nearer came the stealthy foot- 
steps — nearer. . . . Now the one who approached 
had turned the angle of the passage. . . . 

Within sight of my door he seemed to stop; a 
shaft of white light crept through the opening, across 
the floor and on to the wall beyond. A moment 
it remained so — then was gone. The room became 
plunged in darkness. 

Gripping the Browning with nervous fingers 1 
waited, listening intently; but the silence remained 
unbroken. My gaze set upon the spot where the 
head of this midnight visitant might be expected to 
appear, I almost held my breath during the ensuing 
moments of frightful suspense. 

The door was opening : slowly — slowly — by al- 
most imperceptible degrees. I held the pistol 
pointed rigidly before me and my gaze remained 
fixed intently on the dimly seen opening. I suppose 
I acted as ninety-nine men out of a hundred would 
have done in like case. Nothing appeared. 


! THE EAST TOWER 265; 

Then a voice — a voice that seemed to come from 
somewhere under the floor snapped : — 

I “ Good God ! it’s Petrie ! ” 

I dropped my gaze instantly . . . and there, 
looking up at me from the floor at my feet, I vaguely 
discerned the outline of a human head ! 

“ Smith ! ” I whispered. 

Nayland Smith — for indeed it was none other — 
stood up and entered the room. 

“ Thank God you are safe, old man,” he said. 
“ But in waiting for one who is stealthily entering a 
room, don’t, as you love me, take it for granted that 
he will enter upright, I could have shot you from 
the floor with ease I But, mercifully, even in the 
darkness, I recognized your Arab slippers ! ” 

“ Smith,” I said, my heart beating wildly, “ 1 
thought you were drugged — murdered. The port 
contained an opiate.” 

“ I guessed as much ! ” snapped Smith. “ But 
despite the excellent tuition of Dr. Fu-Manchu, I am 
still childishly trustful; and the fact that I did not 
partake of the crusted ’45 was not due to any sus- 
picions which I entertained at that time.” 

“ But, Smith, I saw you drink some port.” 

“ I regret to contradict you, Petrie, but you must 
be aware that the state of my liver — due to a long 
residence in Burma — does not permit me to indulge 
in the luxury of port. My share of the ’45 now 
reposes amid the moss in the tulip-bowl, which you 


266 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


may remember decorated the dining table! Not 
desiring to appear churlish, by means of a simple 
feat of legerdemain I drank your health and future 
happiness in claret ! ” 

“ For God’s sake what is going on, Smith? Some 
one climbed from your window.” 

“ I climbed from my window! ” 

“What!” I said dazedly — “it was you I But 

what does it all mean ? Karamaneh ” 

“ It is for her I fear, Petrie, now. We have not a 
moment to waste ! ” 

He made for the door. 

“ Sir Lionel must be warned at all cost ! ” I cried. 

“ Impossible ! ” snapped Smith. 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ Sir Lionel has disappeared ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXVI 

THE DUNGEON 


X^^E were out in the corridor now» Smith show** 
V T ing the way with the light of his electric 
pocket-lamp. My mind was clear enough, but I felt 
as weak as a child. 

“ You look positively ghastly, old man,” rapped 
Smith, “ which is no matter for wonder. I have yet 
to learn how it happened that you are not lying in- 
sensible, or dead, as a result of the drugged wine. 
When I heard some one moving in your room, it 
never occurred to me that it was you!* 

“ Smith,” I said — “ the house seems as still as 
death.” 

“ You, Karamaneh, and myself are the only occu- 
pants of the east wing. Homopoulo saw to that.” 

“ Then he ” 

“ He is a member of the Si-Fan, a creature of Dr. 
Fu-Manchu — yes, beyond all doubt! Sir Lionel is 
unfortunate — as ever — in his choice of servants. 
I blame my own stupidity entirely, Petrie ; and I pray 
that my enlightenment has not come too late.” 

“What does it all mean? — what have you 
learnt? ” 

“ Mind these three steps,” warned Smith, glancing 
back. “ I found my mind persistently dwelling upon 
267 


268 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


the matter of that weird rapping, Petrie, and I 
recollected the situation of Sir Lionel’s room, on the 
southeast front. A brief inspection revealed the 
fact that, by means of a kindly branch of ivy, I could 
reach the roof of the east tower from my window.” 

“Well?” 

“ One may walk from there along the roof of the , 
southeast front, and by lying face downwards at 
the point where it projects above the main entrance l' 
look into Sir Lionel’s room! ” ’ 

“ 1 saw you go 1 ” 

“ 1 feared that some one was watching me, but that 
it was you I had never supposed. Neither Barton 
nor his man are in that room, Petrie! They have 
been spirited away! This is Karamaneh’s door.” i 

He grasped me by the arm, at the same time di- j 
recting the light upon a closed door before which we | 
stood. I raised my fist and beat upon the panels; 
then, every muscle tensed and my heart throbbing ^ 
wildly, I listened for the girl’s voice. 

Not a sound broke that deathly stillness except 
the beating of my own heart, which, I thought, must 
surely be audible to my companion. Frantically I 
hurled myself against the stubborn oak, but Smith 
thrust me back. 

“ Useless, Petrie ! ” he said — “ useless. This 
room is in the base of the east tower, yours is above 
it and mine at the top. The corridors approaching 
the three floors deceive one, but the fact remains. 

I have no positive evidence, but I would wager all I 


THE DUNGEON 


269 

possess that there is a stair in the thickness of the 
wall, and hidden doors in the paneling of the three 
apartments. The Yellow group has somehow ob- 
tained possession of a plan of the historic secret pas- 
sages and chambers of Graywater Park. Homo- 
poulo is the spy in the household; and Sir Lionel, 
with his man Kennedy, was removed directly the in- 
vitation to us had been posted. The group will know 
by now that we have escaped them, but Kara- 
maneh ...” 

‘‘Smith!” I groaned, “Smith! What can we 
do? What has befallen her? ...” 

“ This way! ” he snapped. “ We are not beaten 
yet!” 

“ We must arouse the servants ! ” 

“Why? It would be sheer waste of priceless 
time. There are only three men who actually sleep 
in the house (excepting Homopoulo) and these are 
in the northwest wing. No, Petrie; we must rely 
upon ourselves.” 

He was racing recklessly along the tortuous cor- 
ridors and up the oddly placed stairways of that old- 
world building. My anguish had reenforced the 
atrophine which I had employed as an antidote to 
the opiate in the wine, and now my blood, that had 
coursed sluggishly, leapt througTi my veins like fire 
and I burned with a passionate anger. 

Into a large and untidy bedroom we burst. Books 
and papers littered the floor; curios, ranging from 
mummied cats and ibises to Turkish yataghans and 


270 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Zulu assegais, surrounded the place in riotous dis- 
order. Beyond doubt this was the apartment of Sir 
Lionel Barton. A lamp burned upon a table near to 
the disordered bed, and a discolored Greek statuette 
of Orpheus lay overturned on the carpet close beside 
it. 

“ Homopoulo was on the point of leaving this 
room at the moment that I peered in at the window,” 
said Smith, breathing heavily. “ From here there 
is another entrance to the secret passages. Have 
your pistol ready.” 

He stepped across the disordered room to a little 
alcove near the foot of the bed, directing the ray of 
the pocket-lamp upon the small, square paneling. 

“ Ah ! ” he cried, a note of triumph in his voice — 
“he has left the door ajar! A visit of inspection 
was not anticipated to-night, Petrie! Thank God 
for an Indian liver and a suspicious mind.” 

He disappeared into a yawning cavity which now 
I perceived to exist in the wall. I hurried after him, 
and found myself upon roughly fashioned stone 
steps in a very low and narrow descending passage. 
Over his shoulder — 

“ Note the direction,” said Smith breathlessly. 
“ We shall presently find ourselves at the base of the 
east tower.” 

Down we went and down, the ray of the electric 
lamp always showing more steps ahead, until at last 
these terminated in a level, arched passage, curving 
sharply to the right. Two paces more brought us 


THE DUNGEON 


271 


to a doorway, less than four feet high, approached 
by two wide steps. A blackened door, having a most 
cumbersome and complicated lock, showed in the 
recess. 

Nayland Smith bent and examined the mechanism 
intently. ^ 

“Freshly oiled!,” he commented. “You know 
into whose room it opens? ” 

Well enough I knew, and, detecting that faint, 
haunting perfume which spoke of the dainty person- 
ality of Karamaneh, my anger blazed up anew. 
Came a faint sound of metal grating upon metal, and 
Smith pulled open the door, which turned outward 
upon the steps, and bent further forward, sweeping 
the ray of light about the room beyond. 

“ Empty, of course ! ” he muttered. “ Now for 
the base of these damned nocturnal operations.” 

He descended the steps and began to flash the 
light all about the arched passageway wherein we 
stood. 

“ The present dining-room of Graywater Park lies 
almost due south of this spot,” he mused. “ Sup- 
pose we try back.” 

We retraced our steps to the foot of the stair. In 
the wall on their left was an opening, low down 
against the floor and little more than three feet high ; 
it reminded me of some of the entrances to those 
seemingly interminable passages whereby one ap- 
proaches the sepulchral chambers of the Egyptian 
Pyramids. 


272 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

“Now for it!” snapped Smith. “Follow me 
closely.” 

Down he dropped, and, having the lamp thrust 
out before him, began to crawl into the tunnel. As 
his heels disappeared, and only a faint light outlined 
the opening, I dropped upon all fours in turn, and 
began laboriously to drag myself along behind him. 
The atmosphere was damp, chilly, and evil-smelling; 
therefore, at the end of some ten or twelve yards of 
this serpentine crawling, when I saw Smith, ahead of 
me, to be standing erect, I uttered a stifled exclama- 
tion of relief. The thought of Karamaneh having 
been dragged through this noisome hole was one I 
dared not dwell upon. 

A long, narrow passage now opened up, its end 
invisible from where we stood. Smith hurried for- 
ward. For the first thirty or forty paces the roof 
was formed of massive stone slabs; then its character 
changed; the passage became lower, and one was 
compelled frequently to lower the head in order to 
avoid the oaken beams which crossed it. 

“ We are passing under the dining-room,” said 
Smith. “ It was from here the sound of beating 
first came I ” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ I have built up a theory, which remains to be 
proved, Petrie. In my opinion a captive of the Yel- 
low group escaped to-night and sought to summon 
assistance, but was discovered and overpowered.” 

“ Sir Lionel? ” 


THE DUNGEON 


273 


“ Sir Lionel, or Kennedy — yes, I believe so.” 

Enlightenment came to me, and I understood the 
pitiable condition into which the Greek butler had 
been thrown by the phenomenon of the ghostly 
knocking. But Smith hurried on, and suddenly I 
saw that the passage had entered upon a sharp de- 
clivity; and now both roof and walls were composed 
•of crumbling brickwork. Smith pulled up, and thrust 
back a hand to detain me. 

Sshf ” he hissed, and grasped my arm. 

Silent, intently still, we stood and listened. The 
sound of a guttural voice was clearly distinguishable 
from somewhere close at hand ! 

Smith extinguished the lamp. A faint luminance 
proclaimed itself directly ahead. Still grasping my 
arm, Smith began slowly to advance toward the light. 
One — two — three — four — five paces we crept 
onward . . . and I found myself looking through 
an archv/ay into a medieval torture-chamber ! 

Only a part of the place was visible to me, but its 
character was unmistakable. Leg-irons, boots and 
thumb-screws hung in racks upon the fungi-covered 
wall. A massive, iron-studded door was open at 
the further end of the chamber, and on the thres- 
hold stood Homopoulo, holding a lantern in his 
hand. 

Even as I saw him, he stepped through, followed 
by one of those short, thick-set Burmans of whom 
Dr. Fu-Manchu had a number among his entourage ; 
they were members of the villainous robber bands 


274 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

notorious in India as the dacoits. Over one broad 
shoulder, slung sackwise, the dacoit carried a girl 
clad in scanty white drapery. . . . 

Madness seized me, the madness of sorrow and 
impotent wrath. For, with Karamaneh being borne 
off before my eyes, I dared not fire at her abductors 
lest I should strike her! 

Nayland Smith uttered a loud cry, and together 
we hurled ourselves into the chamber. Heedless of 
what, of whom, else it might shelter, we sprang for 
the group in the distant doorway. A memory is 
mine of the dark, white face of Homopoulo, peer- 
ing, wild-eyed, over the lantern, of the slim, white- 
clad form of the lovely captive seeming to fade into 
the obscurity of the passage beyond. 

Then, with bleeding knuckles, with wild impreca- 
tions bubbling from my lips, I was battering upon 
the mighty door — which had been slammed in my 
face at the very instant that I had gained it. 

“ Brace up, man ! — Brace up ! ” cried Smithy 
and in his strenuous, grimly purposeful fashion, he 
shouldered me away from the door. “ A battering- 
ram could not force that timber; we must seek an- 
other way ! ” 

I staggered, weakly, back into the room. Hand 
raised to my head, I looked about me. A lantern 
stood in a niche in one wall, weirdly illuminating 
that place of ghastly memories; there were braziers, 
branding-irons, with other instruments dear to the 
Black Ages, about me — and gagged, chained side 


THE DUNGEON 


275 

by side against the opposite wall, lay Sir Lionel 
Barton and another man unknown to me ! 

Already Nayland Smith was bending over the 
intrepid explorer, whose fierce blue eyes glared out 
from the sun-tanned face madly, whose gray hair 
and mustache literally bristled with rage long re- 
pressed. I choked down the emotions that boiled 
and seethed within me, and sought to release the 
second captive, a stockily-built, clean-shaven man. 
First I removed the length of toweling which was 
tied firmly over his mouth; and — 

“ Thank you, sir,” he said composedly. “ The 
keys of these irons are on the ledge there beside the 
lantern. I broke the first ring I was chained to, but 
the Yellow devils overhauled me, all manacled as 
I was, half-way along the passage before I could 
attract your attention, and fixed me up to another 
and stronger ring! ” 

Ere he had finished speaking, the keys were in my 
hands, and I had unlocked the gyves from both the 
captives. Sir Lionel Barton, his gag removed, un- 
loosed a torrent of pent-up wrath. 

“The hell-fiends drugged me!” he shouted. 

That black villain Homopoulo doctored my tea ! 
I woke in this damnable cell, the secret of which has 
been lost for generations!” He turned blazing 
blue eyes upon Kennedy. “ How did you come to 
be trapped?” he demanded unreasonably. “1 
credited you with a modicum of brains! ” 

“ Homopoulo came running from your room, sir. 


276 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

and told me you were taken suddenly ill and that a 
doctor must be summoned without delay.” 

‘‘ Well, well, you fool I ” 

“ Dr. Hamilton was away, sir.” 

“ A false call beyond doubt I ” snapped Smith. 

“ Therefore I went for the new doctor, Dr. Mag- 
nus, in the village. He came at once and I showed 
him up to your room. He sent Mrs. Oram out, 
leaving only Homopoulo and myself there, except 
yourself.” 

“Well?” 

“ Sandbagged ! ” explained the man noncha- 
lantly. “ Dr. Magnus, who is some kind of dago, is 
evidently one of the gang.” 

“ Sir Lionel ! ” cried Smith — “ where does the 
passage lead to beyond that doorway? ” 

“ God knows ! ” was the answer, which dashed 
my last hope to the ground. “ I have no more idea 
than yourself. Perhaps . . .” 

He ceased speaking. A sound had interrupted 
him, which, in those grim surroundings, lighted by 
the solitary lantern, translated my thoughts magi- 
cally to Ancient Rome, to the Rome of Tigellinus, 
to the dungeons of Nero’s Circus. Echoing eerily 
along the secret passages it came — the roaring and 
snarling of the lioness and the leopards. 

Nayland Smith clapped his hand to his brow and 
stared at me almost frenziedly, then — 

“ God guard her I ” he whispered. “ Either their 
plans, wherever they got them, are inaccurate, or in 


THE DUNGEON 


277 


their panic they have mistaken the way.” . . . Wild 
cries now were mingling with the snarling of the 
beasts. . . . “ They have blundered into the old 
crypt ! ” 

How we got out of the secret labyrinth of Gray- 
water Park into the grounds and around the angle 
of the west wing to the ivy-grown, pointed door,, 
where once the chapel had been, I do not know. 
Lights seemed to spring up about me, and half-clad 
servants to appear out of the void. Temporarily 
I was insane. 

Sir Lionel Barton was behaving like a madman 
too, and like a madman he tore at the ancient boks 
land precipitated himself into the stone-paved 
cloister barred with the moon-cast shadows of the 
Norman pillars. From behind the iron bars of the 
home of the leopards came now a fearsome growling 
and scuffling. 

Smith held the light with steady hand, whilst 
Kennedy forced the heavy bolts of the crypt door. 

In leapt the fearless baronet among his savage 
pets, and in the ray of light from the electric lamp 
I saw that which turned me sick with horror. Prone 
beside a yawning gap in the floor lay Homopoulo, 
his throat torn indescribably and his white shirt- 
front smothered in blood. A black leopard, having 
its fore-paws upon the dead man’s breast, turned 
blazing eyes upon us; a second crouched beside him. 

Heaped up in a corner of the place, amongst the 
straw and litter of the lair, lay the Burmese dacoit, 


278 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

his sinewy fingers embedded in the throat of the 
third and largest leopard — which was dead — 
whilst the creature’s gleaming fangs were buried in ■ 
the tattered flesh of the man’s shoulder. 

Upon the straw beside the two, her slim, bare i 
arms outstretched and her head pillowed upon them, 
so that her rippling hair completely concealed her 
face, lay Karamaneh. . . . 

In a trice Barton leapt upon the great beast stand- 
ing over Homopoulo, had him by the back of the 
neck and held him in his powerful hands whining 
with fear and helpless'as a rat in the grip of a terrier. I 
The second leopard fled into the inner lair. ! 

So much I visualized in a flash; then all faded, 
and I knelt alone beside her whose life was my life, 
in a world grown suddenly empty and still. 

Through long hours of agony I lived, hours con- 
tained within the span of seconds, the beloved head 
resting against my shoulder, whilst I searched for ' 
signs of life and dreaded to find ghastly wounds, j 
... At first I could not credit the miracle ; I could j 
not receive the wondrous truth. 

Karamaneh was quite uninjured and deep in 
drugged slumber! 

“ The leopards thought her dead,” whispered 
Smith brokenly, “ and never touched her! ” 


CHAPTER XXXVII 

THREE NIGHTS LATER 


“T ISTENl ” cried Sir Lionel Barton. 

1 He stood upon the black rug before the 
massive, carven mantelpiece, a huge man in an ap- 
propriately huge setting. 

I checked the words on my lips, and listened in- 
tently. Within Graywater Park all was still, for the 
jhour was late. Outside, the rain was descending in 
a deluge, its continuous roar drowning any other 
sound that might have been discernible. Then, 
above it, I detected a noise that at first I found dif- 
ficult to define. 

‘‘ The howling of the leopards ! ” I suggested. 

Sir Lionel shook his tawny head with impatience. 
Then, the sound growing louder and louder, suddenly 
I knew it for what it was. 

Some one shouting! ” I exclaimed — “ some one 
who rides a galloping horse I ” 

“ Coming here I ” added Sir Lionel. “ Hark 1 he 
is at the door I ” 

A bell rang furiously, again and again sending its 
brazen clangor echoing through the great apart- 
ments and passages of Graywater. 

279 


2 80 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


“ There goes Kennedy.” 

Above the sibilant roaring of the rain I could hear 
some one releasing heavy bolts and bars. The 
servants had long since retired, as also had Kara- 
maneh; but Sir Lionel’s man remained wakeful and 
alert. 

Sir Lionel made for the door, and I, standing up, 
was about to follow him, when Kennedy appeared, 
in his wake a bedraggled groom, hatless, and pale to 
the lips. His frightened eyes looked from face to 
face. 

“ Dr. Petrie?” he gasped interrogatively. 

“Yes I” I said, a sudden dread assailing me. 
“What is it?” 

“ Gad! it’s Hamilton’s man! ” cried Barton. 

“ Mr. Nayland Smith, sir,” continued the groom 
brokenly — and all my fears were realized. “ He’s 
been attacked, sir, on the road from the station, and 
Dr. Hamilton, to whose house he was carried ” 

“ Kennedy! ” shouted Sir Lionel, “ get the Rolls- 
Royce out ! Put your horse up here, my man, and 
come with us ! ” 

He turned abruptly ... as the groom, grasping 
at the wall, fell heavily to the floor. 

“ Good God ! ” I cried — “ What’s the matter with 
him?” 

I bent over the prostrate man, making a rapid 
examination. 

“ His head ! A nasty blow. Give me a hand, 
Sir Lionel; we must get him on to a couch.” 


THREE NIGHTS LATER 


281 


The unconscious man was laid upon a Chesterfield, 
and, ably assisted by the explorer, who was used to 
coping with such hurts as this, I attended to him 
as best I could. One of the men-servants had been 
aroused, and, just as he appeared in the doorway, 
I had the satisfaction of seeing Dr. Hamilton’s 
groom open his eyes, and look about him, dazedly. 

' “ Quick,” I said. “ Tell me — what hurt you? ” 

! The man raised his hand to his head and groaned 
* feebly. 

“ Something came whizzing^ sir,” he answered. 
“ There was no report, and I saw nothing. I don’t 
I know what it can have been ” 

“ Where did this attack take place? ” 

“Between here and the village, sir; just by the 
coppice at the cross-roads on top of Raddon Hill.” 

“ You had better remain here for the present,” 
I said, and gave a few words of instruction to the 
man whom we had aroused. 

j “ This way,” cried Barton, who had rushed out of 
the room, his huge frame reappearing in the door- 
way; “ the car is ready.” 

My mind filled with dreadful apprehensions, I 
passed outon to the carriage sweep. Sir Lionel was 
already at the wheel. 

“ Jump in, Kennedy,” he said, when I had taken 
a seat beside him; and the man sprang into the car. 

Away we shot, up the narrow lane, lurched hard 
on the bend — and were off at ever growing speed 
[toward the hills, where a long climb awaited the car. 


282 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


The head-light picked out the straight road 
before us, and Barton increased the pace, regard- 
less of regulations, until the growing slope rnade 
itself felt and the speed grew gradually less; above 
the throbbing of the motor, I could hear, now, the 
rain in the overhanging trees. 

I peered through the darkness, up the road, 
wondering if we were near to the spot where the 
mysterious attack had been made upon Dr. Hamil- 
ton’s groom. I decided that we were just passing 
the place, and to confirm my opinion, at that 
moment Sir Lionel swung the car round suddenly, 
and plunged headlong into the black mouth of a 
narrow lane. 

Hitherto, the roads had been fair, but now the 
jolting and swaying became very pronounced. 

“Beastly road!” shouted Barton — “and stiff 
gradient ! ” 

I nodded. 

That part of the way which was visible in front 
had the appearance of a muddy cataract, through 
which we must force a path. I 

Then, as abruptly as it had commenced, the rain ,j 
ceased; and at almost the same moment came an I 
angry cry from behind. i 

The canvas hood made it impossible to see 
clearly in the car, but, turning quickly, I per- 
ceived Kennedy, with his cap off, rubbing his close- 
cropped skull. He was cursing volubly. 

“ What is it, Kennedy? ” 


THREE NIGHTS LATER 283 

“Somebody sniping!” cried the man. “Lucky 
for me I had my cap on I ” 

Eh, sniping? ” said Barton, glancing over his 
shoulder. “ What d’you mean? A stone, was it? ” 

“ No, sir,” answered Kennedy. “ I don’t know 
what it was — but it wasn’t a stone.” 

“ Hurt much? ” I asked. 

“ No, sir I nothing at all.” But there was a note 
of fear in the man’s voice — fear of the unknown. 

Something struck the hood with a dull drum- 
like thud. 

“There’s another, sir!” cried Kennedy. 
“ There’s some one following us ! ” 

“ Can you see any one? ” called Barton sharply. 

“ Don’t know, sir! ” came the reply. “ I thought 
I saw something then, about twenty yards behind. 
It’s so dark.” 

“Try a shot! ” I said, passing my Browning to 
Kennedy. 

The next moment, the crack of the little weapon 
sounded sharply, and I thought I detected a vague, 
answering cry. 

“ See anything? ” came from Barton. 

Neither Kennedy nor I made reply; for we were 
both looking back down the hill. Momentarily, the 
moon had peeped from the cloud-banks, and where, 
three hundred yards behind, the bordering trees 
were few, a patch of dim light spread across the 
muddy road — and melted away as a new blackness 
gathered. 


284 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

But, in the brief space, three figures had shown, 
only for an instant — but long enough for us both 
to see that they were those of three gaunt men, 
seemingly clad in scanty garments. What weapons 
they employed I could not conjecture; but we were 
pursued by three of Dr. Fu-Manchu’s dacoits ! 

Barton growled something savagely, and ran the 
car to the left of the road, as the gates of Dr. Ham- 
ilton’s house came in sight. 

A servant was there, ready to throw them open; 
and Sir Lionel swung around on to the drive, and 
drove ahead, up the elm avenue to where the light 
streamed through the open door on to the wet 
gravel. The house was a blaze of lights, every 
window visible being illuminated; and Mrs. Hamil- 
ton stood in the porch to greet us. 

“Doctor Petrie?” she asked, nervously, as we 
descended. 

“ I am he,” I said. “ How is Mr. Smith? ” 

“ Still insensible,” was the reply. 

Passing a knot of servants who stood at the foot 
of the stairs like a little flock of frightened sheep — 
we made our way into the room where my poor 
friend lay. 

Dr. Hamilton, a gray-haired man of military bear- 
ing, greeted Sir Lionel, and the latter made me 
known to my fellow practitioner, who grasped my 
hand, and then went straight to the bedside, tilting 
the lampshade to throw the light directly upon the 
patient. 


THREE NIGHTS LATER 


285 


Nayland Smith lay with his arms outside the cov- 
erlet and his fists tightly clenched. His thin, tanned 
face wore a grayish hue, and a white bandage was 
about his head. He breathed stentoriously. 

“ We can only wait,” said Dr. Hamilton, and 
trust that there will be no complications.” 

I clenched my fists involuntarily, but, speaking no 
word, turned and passed from the room. 

Downstairs in Dr. Hamilton’s study was the man 
who had found Nayland Smith. 

“ We don’t know when it was done, sir,” he said> 
answering my first question. “ Staples and me 
stumbled on him in the dusk, just by the big beech 
— a good quarter-mile from the village. I don’t 
know how long he’d laid there, but it must have 
been for some time, as the last train arrived an 
hour earlier. No, sir, he hadn’t been robbed; his 
money and watch were on him but his pocketbook 
lay open beside him; — though, funny as it seems, 
there were three five-pound notes in it ! ” 

“ Do you understand, Petrie?” cried Sir Lionel. 
“ Smith evidently obtained a copy of the old plan 
of the secret passages of Graywater and Monkswell, 
sooner than he expected, and determined to return 
to-night. They left him for dead, having robbed 
him of the plans ! ” 

“ But the attack on Dr. Hamilton’s man? ” 

“ Fu-Manchu clearly tried to prevent communi- 
cation with us to-night I He is playing for time. 
Depend upon it, Petrie, the hour of his departure 


286 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


draws near and he is afraid of being trapped at the 
last moment.” 

He began taking huge strides up and down the 
room, forcibly reminding me of a caged lion. 

“ To think,” I said bitterly, “ that all our efforts 
have failed to discover the secret ” 

“The secret of my own property!” roared 
Barton — “ and one known to that damned, cunning 
Chinese devil! ” 

“ And in all probability now known also to 
Smith ” 

“ And he cannot speak! . . .” 

“ JVho cannot speak? ” demanded a hoarse voice. 

I turned in a flash, unable to credit my senses — 
and there, holding weakly to the doorpost, stood 
Nayland Smith ! 

“ Smith ! ” I cried reproachfully — “ you should 
not have left your room ! ” 

He sank into an arm-chair, assisted by Dr. Hamil- 
ton. 

“ My skull is fortunately thick ! ” he replied, a 
ghostly smile playing around the corners of his 
mouth — “ and it was a physical impossibility for 
me to remain inert considering that Dr. Fu-Manchu 
proposes to leave England to-night! ” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 

THE monk’s plan 

inquiries in the Manuscript Room of the 

XVX British Museum,” said Nayland Smith, his 
voice momentarily growing stronger and some of the 
old fire creeping back into his eyes, “ have proved 
entirely successful.” 

Sir Lionel Barton, Dr. Hamilton, and myself hung 
upon every word; and often I found myself glancing 
at the old-fashioned clock on the doctor’s mantel- 
piece. 

“ We had very definite proof,” continued Smith, 
“ of the fact that Fu-Manchu and company were con- 
versant with that elaborate system of secret rooms 
and passages which forms a veritable labyrinth in, 
about, and beneath Graywater Park. Some of the 
passages we explored. That Sir Lionel should be 
ignorant of the system was not strange, considering 
that he had but recently inherited the property, and 
that the former owner, his kinsman, regarded the 
secret as lost. A starting-point was discovered, 
how^ever, in the old work on haunted manors un- 
earthed in the library, as you remember. There was 
a reference, in the chapter dealing with Graywater, 
to a certain monkish manuscript said to repose in 
287 


288 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


the national collection and to contain a plan of these 
passages and stairways. 

“ The Keeper of the Manuscripts at the Museum 
very courteously assisted me in my inquiries, and 
the ancient parchment was placed in my hands. 
Sure enough, it contained a carefully executed draw- 
ing of the hidden ways of Graywater, the work of a 
monk in the distant days when Graywater was a 
priory. This monk, I may add — ^ a certain Brother 
Anselm — afterwards became Abbot of Graywater.” 

“Very interesting!” cried Sir Lionel loudly; 
“ very interesting indeed.” 

“ I copied the plan,” resumed Smith, “ with 
elaborate care. That labor, unfortunately, was 
wasted, in part, at least. Then, in order to confirm 
my suspicions on the point, I endeavored to 
ascertain if the monk’s MS. had been asked for at 
the Museum recently. The Keeper of the Manu- 
scripts could not recall that any student had 
handled the work, prior to my own visit, during the 
past ten years. 

“ This was disappointing, and I was tempted to 
conclude that Fu-Manchu had blundered on to 
the secret in some other way, when the Assistant 
Keeper of Manuscripts put in an appearance. From 
him I obtained confirmation of my theory. Three 
months ago a Greek gentleman — possibly. Sir 
Lionel, your late butler, Homopoulo — obtained per- 
mission to consult the MS., claiming to be engaged 
upon a paper for some review or another. 


THE MONK’S PLAN 


289 

“ At any rate, the fact was sufficient. Quite evi- 
dently^ a servant of Fu-Manchu had obtained a copy 
of the plan — and this within a day or so of the 
death of Mr. Brangholme Burton — whose heir, 
Sir Lionel, you were! I became dally Impressed 
anew with the omniscience, the Incredible genius, of 
Dr. Fu-Manchu. 

‘‘ The scheme which we know of to compass the 
death, or captivity, of our three selves and Kara- 
maneh was put Into operation, and failed. But, 
with Its failure, the utility of the secret chambers was 
by no means terminated. The local legend, accord- 
ing to which a passage exists, linking Graywater and 
Monkswell, Is confirmed by the monk’s plan.” 

“ What? ” cried Sir Lionel, springing to his feet 
— “ a passage between the Park and the old tower! 
My dear sir, it’s impossible ! Such a passage would 
have to pass under the River Starn! It’s only a 
narrow stream, I know, but ” 

“ It does^ or did, pass under the River Starn ! 
said Nayland Smith coolly. “ That It is still prac- 
ticable I do not assert; what Interests me is the spot 
at which it terminates.” 

He plunged his hand into the pocket of the light 
overcoat which he wore over the borrowed suit of 
pyjamas In which the kindly Dr. Hamilton had 
clothed him. He was seeking his pipe ! 

“ Have a cigar. Smith ! ” cried Sir Lionel, prof- 
fering his case — “if you must smoke; although I 
think I see our medical friends frowning! ” 


290 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Nayland Smith took a cigar, bit off the end, and 
lighted up. He began to surround himself with 
odorous clouds, to his evident satisfaction. 

“To resume,” he said; “the Spanish priest who 
was persecuted at Graywater in early Reformation 
days and whose tortured spirit is said to haunt the 
Park, held the secret of this passage, and of the 
subterranean chamber in Monkswell, to which it led. 
His confession — which resulted in his death at the 
stake ! — enabled the commissioners to recover from 
his chamber a quantity of church ornaments. For 
these facts I am indebted to the author of the work 
on haunted manors. 

“ Our inquiry at this point touches upon things 
sinister and incomprehensible. In a word, al- 
though the passage and a part of the underground 
room are of unknown antiquity, it appears certain 
that they were improved and enlarged by one of 
the abbots of Monkswell — at a date much later 
than Brother Anselm’s abbotship — and the place 
was converted into a secret chapel ” 

“ A secret chapel! ” said Dr. Hamilton. 

“ Exactly. This was at a time in English history 
when the horrible cult of Asmodeus spread from the 
Rhine monasteries and gained proselytes in many 
religious houses of England. In this secret chapel, 
wretched Churchmen, seduced to the abominable 
views of the abbot, celebrated the Black Mass! ” 

“ My God! ” I whispered — “ small wonder that 
the place is reputed to be haunted! ” 


THE MONK’S PLAN 


291 


Small wonder,” cried Nayland Smith, with all 
his old, nervous vigor, “ that Dr. Fu-Manchu se- 
lected it as an ideal retreat in times of danger ! ” 

“ What! the chapel? ” roared Sir Lionel. 

“Beyond doubt! Well knowing the penalty of 
discovery, those old devil-worshipers had chosen a 
temple from which they could escape in emergency. 
There is a short stair from the chamber into the 
cave which, as you may know, exists in the cliff ad- 
joining Monkswell.” 

Smith’s eyes were blazing now, and he was on 
his feet, pacing the floor, an odd figure, with his 
bandaged skull and inadequate garments, biting on 
the already extinguished cigar as though it had been 
a pipe. 

“ Returning to our rooms, Petrie,” he went on 
rapidly, “ who should I run into but Summers ! You 
remember Summers, the Suez Canal pilot whom you 
met at Ismailia two years ago? He brought the 
yacht through the Canal, from Suez, on which I sus- 
pect Ki-Ming came to England. She is a big boat 
— used to be on the Port Said and Jaffa route before 
a wealthy Chinaman acquired her — through an 
Egyptian agent — for his personal use. 

“ All the crews. Summers told me, were Asiatics, 
and little groups of natives lined the Canal and per- 
formed obeisances as the vessel passed. Undoubt- 
edly they had that woman on board, Petrie, the 
Lady of the Si-Fan, who escaped, together with Fu- 
Manchu, when we raided the meeting in London! 


292 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Like a fool I came racing back here without advis- 
ing you ; and, all alone, my mind occupied with the 
tremendous import of these discoveries, started, long 
after dusk, to walk to Graywater Park.” 

He shrugged his shoulders whimsically, and raised 
one hand to his bandaged head. 

“ Fu-Manchu employs weapons both of the future 
and of the past,” he said. “ My movements had 
been watched, of course; I was mad. Some one, 
probably a dacoit, laid me low with a ball of clay 
propelled from a sling of the Ancient Persian pat- 
tern ! I actually saw him . . . then saw, and knew, 
no more ! ” 

Smith! ” I cried — whilst Sir Lionel Barton and 
Dr. Hamilton stared at one another, dumbfounded 
— “ you think he is on the point of flying from Eng- 
land ” 

“ The Chinese yacht, Chanak-Kampo , is lying two 
miles off the coast and in the sight of the tower of 
Monkswell! ” 


CHAPTER XXXIX 

THE SHADOW ARMY 


HE scene of our return to Graywater Park is 



X destined to live in my memory for ever. The 
storm, of which the violent rainfall had been a pre- 
lude, gathered blackly over the hills. Ebon clouds 
lowered upon us as we came racing to the gates. 
Then the big car was spinning around the carriage 
sweep, amid a deathly stillness of Nature indescrib- 
ably gloomy and ominous. I have said, a stillness 
of nature ; but, as Kennedy leapt out and ran up the 
steps to the door, from the distant cages wherein 
Sir Lionel kept his collection of rare beasts proceeded 
the angry howling of the leopards and such a wild 
succession of roars from the African lioness that I 
stared at our eccentric host questioningly. 

“ It’s the gathering storm,” he explained. 
“ These creatures are peculiarly susceptible to at- 
mospheric disturbances.” 

Now the door was thrown open, and, standing in 
the lighted hall, a picture fair to look upon in her 
dainty kimono and little red, high-heeled slippers^ 
stood Karamaneh ! 

I was beside her in a moment; for the lovely face 


294 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

was pale and there was a wildness in her eyes which 
alarmed me. 

He is somewhere near I ” she whispered, cling- 
ing to me. “ Some great danger threatens. Where 
have you been? — what has happened? ” 

How I loved her quaint, musical accent ! How I 
longed to take her in my arms ! 

“ Smith was attacked on his way back from 
London,” I replied. “ But, as you see, he is quite 
recovered. We are in no danger; and I insist that 
you go back to bed. We shall tell you all about it in 
the morning.” 

Rebellion blazed up in her wonderful eyes 
instantly — and as quickly was gone, leaving them 
exquisitely bright. Two tears, like twin pearls, 
hung upon the curved black lashes. It made my 
blood course faster to watch this lovely Eastern girl 
conquering the barbaric impulses that sometimes 
flamed up within her, because I willed it; indeed this 
was a miracle that I never tired of witnessing. 

Mrs. Oram, the white-haired housekeeper, placed 
her arm in motherly fashion about the girl’s slim 
waist. 

‘‘ She wants to stay in my room until the trouble 
is all over,” she said in her refined, sweet voice. 

“ You are very good, Mrs. Oram,” I replied. 
“ Take care of her.” 

One long, reassuring glance I gave Karamaneh, 
then turned and followed Smith and Sir Lionel up 
the winding oak stair. Kennedy came close behind 


THE SHADOW ARMY 


295 


me, carrying one of the acetylene head-lamps of the 
car. And — 

“ Just listen to the lioness, sir I ” he whispered. 
“ It’s not the gathering storm that’s making her so 
restless. Jungle beasts grow quiet, as a rule, when 
there’s thunder about.” 

The snarling of the great creature was plainly 
audible, distant though we were from her cage. 

“Through your room, Barton!” snapped Nay- 
land Smith, when we gained the top corridor. 

He was his old, masterful self once more, and his 
voice was vibrant with that suppressed excitement 
which I knew so well. Into the disorderly sleeping 
apartment of the baronet we hurried, and Smith 
made for the recess near the bed which concealed a 
door in the paneling. 

“Cautiously here!” cried Smith. “Follow im- 
mediately behind me, Kennedy, and throw the beam 
ahead. Hold the lamp well to the left.” 

In we filed, into that ancient passage which had 
figured in many a black deed but had never served 
the ends of a more evil plotter than the awful China- 
man who so recently had rediscovered it. 

Down we marched, and down, but not to the base 
of the tower, as I had anticipated. At a point which 
I judged to be about level with the first floor of the 
house. Smith — who had been audibly counting the 
steps — paused, and began to examine the seemingly 
unbroken masonry of the wall. 

“ We have to remember,” he muttered, “ that this 


296 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

passage may be blocked up or otherwise impassable, 
and that Fu-Manchu may know of another entrance. 
Furthermore, since the plan is lost, I have to rely 
upon my memory for the exact position of the door.” 

He was feeling about in the crevices between the 
stone blocks of which the wall was constructed. 

“Twenty-one steps,” he muttered; “I feel cer- 
tain.” 

Suddenly it seemed that his quest had proved 
successful. 

“Ah!” he cried— “the ring!” 

I saw that he had drawn out a large iron ring 
from some crevice in which it had been concealed. 

“ Stand back, Kennedy ! ” he warned. 

Kennedy moved on to a lower step — as Smith, 
bringing all his weight to bear upon the ring, turned 
the huge stone slab upon its hidden pivot, so that it 
fell back upon the stair with a reverberating boom. 

We all pressed forward to peer into the black 
cavity. Kennedy moving the light, a square well 
was revealed, not more than three feet across. 
Foot-holes were cut at intervals down the further 
side. 

“ H’m ! ” said Smith — “ I was hardly prepared 
for this. The method of descent that occurs to me 
is to lean back against one side and trust one’s 
weight entirely to the foot-holes on the other. A 
shaft appeared in the plan, I remember, but I had 
formed no theory respecting the means provided for 
descending it. Tilt the lamp forward, Kennedy. 


THE SHADOW ARMY 


297 

Good! I can see the floor of the passage below; only 
about fifteen feet or so down.” 

He stretched his foot across, placed it in the niche 
and began to descend. 

“ Kennedy next I ” came his muffled voice, “ with 
the lamp. Its light will enable you others to see the 
way.” 

Down went Kennedy without hesitation, the lamp 
swung from his right arm. 

“ I will bring up the rear,” said Sir Lionel 
Barton. 

Whereupon I descended. I had climbed down 
about half-way when, from below, came a loud cry, 
a sound of scuffling, and a savage exclamation from 
Smith. Then 

‘‘ We’re right, Petrie I This passage was recently 
used by Fu-Manchu ! ” 

I gained the bottom of the well, and found myself 
standing in the entrance to an arched passage. 
Kennedy was directing the light of the lamp down 
upon the floor. 

“ You see, the door was guarded!” said Nayland 
Smith. 

“What!” 

“ Puff adder ! ” he snapped, and indicated a small 
snake whose head was crushed beneath his heel. 

Sir Lionel now joined us; and, a silent quartette^ 
we stood staring from the dead reptile into the damp 
and evil-smelling tunnel. A distant muttering and 
rumbling rolled, echoing awesomely along it. 


298 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

“ For Heaven’s sake what was that, sir? ” whis- 
pered Kennedy. 

“ It was the thunder,” answered Nayland Smith. 
“ The storm is breaking over the hills. Steady with 
the lamp, my man.” 

We had proceeded for some three hundred yards, 
and, according to my calculations, were clear of the 
orchard of Graywater Park and close to the fringe 
of trees beyond; I was taking note of the curious old 
brickwork of the passage, when — 

“ Look out, sir! ” cried Kennedy — and the light 
began dancing madly. “ Just under your feet I 
Nov/ it’s up the wall! — mind your hand. Dr. 
Petrie! . . 

The lamp was turned, and, since it shone fully 
into my face, temporarily blinded me. 

“ On the roof over your head. Barton ! ” — this 
from Nayland Smith. “ What can we kill it with? ” 

Now my sight was restored to me, and looking 
back along the passage, I saw, clinging to an irregu- 
larity in the moldy wall, the most gigantic scorpion 
I had ever set eyes upon ! It was fully as large as 
my opened hand. 

Kennedy and Nayland Smith were stealthily re- 
tracing their steps, the former keeping the light 
directed upon the hideous insect, which now began 
running about with that horrible, febrile activity 
characteristic of the species. Suddenly came a 
sharp, staccato report. ... Sir Lionel had scored 
a hit with his Browning pistol. 


THE SHADOW ARMY 


299 


In waves of sound, the report went booming along 
the passage. The lamp, as I have said, was turned 
in order to shine back upon us, rendering the tunnel 
ahead a mere black mouth — a veritable inferno, 
held by inhuman guards. Into that black cavern I 
stared, gloomily fascinated by the onward rolling 
sound storm; into that blackness I looked ... to 
feel my scalp tingle horrifically, to know the crown- 
ing horror of the horrible journey. 

The blackness was spangled with watching, 
diamond eyes ! — with tiny insect eyes that moved ; 
upon the floor, upon the walls, upon the ceiling! 
A choking cry rose to my lips. 

“ Smith I Barton I for God’s sake, look I The 
place is alive with scorpions 1 ” 

Around we all came, panic plucking at our hearts, 
around swept the beam of the big lamp; and there, 
retreating before the light, went a veritable army of 
venomous creatures! I counted no fewer than 
three of the giant red centipedes whose poisonous 
touch, called “the zayat kiss,” is certain death; 
several species of scorpion were represented; and 
some kind of bloated, unwieldy spider, so gross of 
body that its short, hairy legs could scarce support 
it, crawled, hideous, almost at my feet. 

What other monstrosities of the insect kingdom 
were included in that obscene host I know not; my 
skin tingled from head to feet; I experienced a 
sensation as if a million venomous things already 
clung to me — unclean things bred in the malarial 


300 


THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 


jungles of Burma, in the corpse-tainted mud of 
China’s rivers, in the fever spots of that darkest 
East from which Fu-Manchu recruited his shadow 
army. 

I was perilously near to losing my nerve when 
the crisp, incisive tones of Nayland Smith’s voice 
came to stimulate me like a cold douche. 

“ This wanton sacrifice of horrors speaks elo- 
quently of a forlorn hope ! Sweep the walls with 
light, Kennedy; all those filthy things are nocturnal 
and they will retreat before us as we advance.” 

His words proved true. Occasioning a sort of 
rustling sound — a faint sibilance indescribably 
loathsome — the creatures gray and black and 
red darted off along the passage. One by one, 
as we proceeded, they crept into holes and crevices 
of the ancient walls, sometimes singly, sometimes 
in pairs — the pairs locked together in deadly em- 
brace.” 

“ They cannot live long in this cold atmosphere,” 
cried Smith. “ Many of them will kill one another 
— and we can safely leave the rest to the British 
climate. But see that none of them drops upon you 
in passing.” 

Thus we pursued our nightmare march, on through 
that valley of horror. Colder grew the atmosphere 
and colder. Again the thunder boomed out above 
us, seeming to shake the roof of the tunnel fiercely, 
as with Titan hands. A sound of falling water, 
audible for some time, now grew so loud that con- 


THE SHADOW ARMY 


SOI 

versation became difficult. All the insects had dis- 
appeared. 

“We are approaching the River Starn! ” roared 
Sir Lionel. “ Note the dip of the passage and the 
wet walls ! ” 

“ Note the type of brickwork! ” shouted Smith. 

Largely as a sedative to the feverish excitement 
which consumed me, I forced myself to study the 
construction of the tunnel; and I became aware of 
an astonishing circumstance. Partly the walls were 
natural, a narrow cavern traversing the bed of rock 
which upcropped on this portion of the estate, but 
partly, if my scanty knowledge of archaeology did 
not betray me, they were Phcenictan! 

“ This stretch of passage,” came another roar 
from Sir Lionel, “ dates back to Roman days or 
even earlier 1 By God I it’s almost incredible I ” 

And now Smith and Kennedy, who led, were up 
to their knees in a running tide. An icy shower- 
bath drenched us from above; ahead was a solid 
wall of falling water. Again, and louder, nearer, 
boomed and rattled the thunder; its mighty voice 
was almost lost in the roar of that subterranean 
cataract. Nayland Smith, using his hands as a 
megaphone, cried : — 

“ Failing the evidence that others have passed this 
way, I should not dare to risk it 1 But the river is 
less than forty feet wide at the point below Monks- 
well; a dozen paces should see us through the 
worst 1 


302 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

I attempted no reply. I will frankly admit that 
the prospect appalled me. But, bracing himself up 
as one does preparatory to a high dive, Smith, nod- 
ding to Kennedy to proceed, plunged into the cat- 
aract ahead. . . . 


CHAPTER XL 

THE BLACK CHAPEL 

O F how we achieved that twelve or fifteen yards 
below the rocky bed of the stream the Powers 
that lent us strength and fortitude alone hold record. 
Gasping for breath, drenched, almost reconciled to 
the end which I thought was come — I found myself 
standing at the foot of a steep flight of stairs roughly 
hewn in the living rock. 

Beside me, the extinguished lamp still grasped in 
his hand, leant Kennedy, panting wildly and clutch- 
ing at the uneven wall. Sir Lionel Barton had sunk 
exhausted upon the bottom step, and Nayland 
Smith was standing near him, looking up the stairs. 
From an arched doorway at their head light streamed 
forth ! 

Immediately behind me, in the dark place where 
the waters roared, opened a fissure in the rock, and 
into it poured the miniature cataract; I understood 
now the phenomenon of minor whirlpools for which 
the little river above was famous. Such were my 
impressions of that brief breathing-space; then — 
“Have your pistols ready!” cried Smith. 
“ Leave the lamp, Kennedy. It can serve us no 
further.” 


303 


304 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

Mustering all the reserve that remained to us, we 
went, pell-mell, a wild, bedraggled company, up that 
ancient stair and poured into the room above. . . . 

One glance showed us that this was indeed the 
chapel of Asmodeus, the shrine of Satan where the 
Black Mass had been sung in the Middle Ages. 
The stone altar remained, together with certain j 
Latin inscriptions cut in the wall. Fu-Manchu’s last | 
home in England had been within a temple of his i 
only Master. 

Save for nondescript litter, evidencing a hasty 
departure of the occupants, and a ship’s lantern 
burning upon the altar, the chapel was unfurnished. 
Nothing menaced us, but the thunder hollowly 
crashed far above. To cover his retreat, Fu-Man- 
chu had relied upon the noxious host in the passage 
and upon the wall of water. Silent, motionless, we 
four stood looking down at that which lay upon the 
floor of the unholy place. 

In a pool of blood was stretched the Eurasian girl, 
Zarmi. Her picturesque finery was reft into tatters 
and her bare throat and arms were covered with 
weals and bruises occasioned by ruthless, clutching 
fingers. Of her face, which had been notable for a 
sort of devilish beauty, I cannot write; it was the 
awful face of one who had died from strangulation. 

Beside her, with a Malay kris in his heart — a 
little, jeweled weapon that I had often seen in 
Zarmi’s hand — sprawled the obese Greek, Samar- 


THE BLACK CHAPEL 


305 

kan, a member of the Si-Fan group and sometime 
manager of a great London hotel! 

It was ghastly, it was infinitely horrible, that 
tragedy of which the story can never be known, 
never be written; that fiendish fight to the death in 
the black chapel of Asmodeus. 

“ We are too late I ” said Nayland Smith. “ The 
stair behind the altar! ” 

He snatched up the lantern. Directly behind the 
stone altar was a narrow, pointed doorway. From 
the depths with which it communicated proceeded 
vague, awesome sounds, as of waves breaking in 
some vast cavern. . . . 

We were more than half-way down the stair when, 
above the muffled roaring of the thunder, I distinctly 
heard the voice of Dr, Fu-Manchu! 

“ By God I ” shouted Smith, “ perhaps they are 
trapped ! The cave is only navigable at low tide and 
in calm weather ! ” 

We literally fell down the remaining steps . . . 
and were almost precipitated into the water ! 

The light of the lantern showed a lofty cavern 
tapering away to a point at its remote end, pear- 
fashion. The throbbing of an engine and churning 
of a screw became audible. There was a faint smell 
of petrol. 

“Shoot! shoot!’’ — the frenzied voice was that 
of Sir Lionel — “Look! they can just get 
through! . . 


3o6 the hand of FU-MANCHU 

Crack! Crack! Crack! 

Nayland Smith’s Browning spat death across the 
cave. Then followed the report of Barton’s pistol; 
then those of mine and Kennedy’s. 

A small motor-boat was creeping cautiously out 
under a low, natural archway which evidently gave 
access to the sea ! Since the tide was incoming, a 
few minutes more of delay had rendered the passage 
of the cavern impossible. . . . 

The boat disappeared. 

“ We are not beaten! ” snapped Nayland Smith. 
“ The Chanak-Kampo will be seized in the Chan- 
nel! ” 

4 : * * * * * 

“ There were formerly steps, in the side of the 
well from which this place takes its name,” declared 
Nayland Smith dully. “ This was the means of 
access to the secret chapel employed by the devil- 
worshipers.” 

“ The top of the well (alleged to be the deepest 
in England),” said Sir Lionel, “ is among a tangle 
of weeds close by the ruined tower.” 

Smith, ascending three stone steps, swung the 
lantern out over the yawning pit below; then he 
stared long and fixedly upwards. 

Both thunder and rain had ceased; but even in 
those gloomy depths we could hear the coming of 
the tempest which followed upon that memorable 
storm. 


THE BLACK CHAPEL 


307 

“ The steps are here,” reported Smith; “ but with- 
out the aid of a rope from above, I doubt if they 
are climbable.” 

“ It’s that or the way we came, sir ! ” said Ken- 
nedy. “ I was five years at sea in wind-jammers. 
Let me swarm up and go for a rope to the Park.” 

“Can you do it?” demanded Smith. “Come 
and look! ” 

Kennedy craned from the opening, staring upward 
and downward ; then — 

“ I can do it, sir,” he said quietly. 

Removing his boots and socks, he swung himself 
out from the opening into the well and was gone. 

* 5k * * * 5f£ * 

The story of Fu-Manchu, and of the organization 
called the Si-Fan which he employed as a means to 
further his own vast projects, is almost told. 

Kennedy accomplished the perilous climb to the 
lip of the well, and sped barefooted to Graywater 
Park for ropes. By means of these we all escaped 
from the strange chapel of the devil-worshipers. 
Of how we arranged for the removal of the bodies 
which lay in the place I need not write. My record 
advances twenty-four hours. 

The great storm which burst over England in the 
never-to-be-forgotten spring when Fu-Manchu fled 
our shores has become historical. There were no 
fewer than twenty shipwrecks during the day and 
night that it raged. 


308 THE HAND OF FU-MANCHU 

Imprisoned by the elements in Graywater Park, 
we listened to the wind howling with the voice of a 
million demons around the ancient manor, to the 
creatures of Sir Lionel’s collection swelling the un- 
holy discord. Then came the news that there was a 
big steamer on the Pinion Rocks — that the lifeboat 
could not reach her. 

As though it were but yesterday I can see us, Sir 
Lionel Barton, Nayland Smith and I, hurrying down 
into the little cove which sheltered the fishing- 
village; fighting our way against the power of the 
tempest. . . . 

Thrice we saw the rockets split the inky curtain 
of the storm; thrice saw the gallant lifeboat crew 
essay to put their frail craft to sea . . . thrice 
the mighty rollers hurled them contemptuously 
back. . . . 

Dawn — a gray, eerie dawn — was creeping 
ghostly over the iron-bound shore, when the frag- 
ments of wreckage began to drift in. Such are the 
currents upon those coasts that bodies are rarely re- 
covered from wrecks on the cruel Pinion Rocks. 

In the dim light I bent over a battered and torn 
mass of timber — that once had been the bow of a 
boat; and in letters of black and gold I read: 

S.Y. Chanak-Kampo/^ 


THE END 


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Aunt Jane of Kentucky.^ By Eliza C. Hall. 

Awakening of Helena Richie. By Margaret Deland. 


Bab: a Sub-Deb. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. 

Barrier, The. By Rex Beach. 

Barbarians. By Robert W. Chambers. 

Bargain True, The. By Nalbro Bartley. 

Bar 20. By Clarence E. Mulford. 

Bar 20 Days. By Clarence E. Mulford. 

Bars of Iron, The. By Ethel M. Dell. 

Beasts of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs. ^ 

Beloved Traitor, The. By Frank L. Packard. 

Beltane the Smith. By Jeffery Farnol. ^ 

Betrayal, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 

Beyond the Frontier. By Randall Parrish. 

Big Timber. By Bertrand W. Sinclair. 

Black Is White. By George Barr McCutc^on. ^ 

Blind Man’s Eyes, The. By Wm. MacHarg and Edwm 
Balmer. 

Bob, Son of Battle. By Alfred Ollivant. 

Boston Blackie. By Jack Boyle. 

Boy with Wings, The. By Berta Ruck 
Brandon of the Engineers. By Harold Bindloss. 

Broad Highway, The. By Jeffery Farnol. 

Brown Study, The. By Grace S. Richmond. 

Bruce of the Circle A. By Harold Titus. 

Buck Peters, Ranchman. By Clarence E. Mulford. 

Business of Life, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 


Popular Copyright Novels 

AT MODERATE PRICES 

Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of 
A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction 


Cabbages and Kings. By O. Henry. 

Cabin Fever. By B. M. Bower. 

Calling of Dan Matthews, The. By Harold Bell Wright. 
Cape Cod Stories. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 

Cap’n Abe, Storekeeper. By James A. Cooper. 

Cap'n Dan's Daughter. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 

Cap’n Eri. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 

Cap’n Jonah’s Fortune. By James A. Cooper. 

Cap’n Warren’s Wards. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 

Chain of Evidence, A. By Carolyn Wells. 

Chief Legatee, The. By Anna Katharine Green. 

Cinderella Jane. By Marjorie B. Cooke. 

Cinema Murder, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 

City of Masks, The. By George Barr McCutcheon. 

Cleek of Scotland Yard. By T. W. Hanshew. 

Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces. By Thomas W. Hanshew. 
Cleek’s Government Cases. By Thomas W. Hanshew. 
Clipped Wings. By Rupert Hughes. 

Clue, The. By Carolyn Wells. 

Clutch of Circumstance, The. By Marjorie Benton Cooke. 
Coast of Adventure, The. By Harold Bindloss. 

Coming of Cassidy, The. By Clarence E. Mulford. 

Coming of the Law, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer. 

Conquest of Canaan, The. By Booth Tarkington. 
Conspirators, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 

Court of Inquiry, A. By Grace S. Richmond. 

Cow Puncher, The. By Robert J. C. Stead. 

Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure. By 
Rex Beach. 

Cross Currents. By Author of “Pollyanna.” 

Cry in the Wilderness, A. By Mary E. Waller. 

Danger, And Other Stories. By A. Conan Doyle. 

Dark Hollow, The. By Anna Katharine Green. 

Dark Star, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 

Daughter Pays* The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 

Day of Days, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. 

Depot Master, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 

Desired Woman, The. By Will N. Harben. 












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